In the Middle Kingdom
by Gardeners Grow Love
Summary: In the Land of the Nile before the sealing of the Shadow Realm, a young prince meets his Guardian. *Don't forget to leave a review* ^^
1. Prologue

Prologue: Birth  
  
A scream rent the still desert air, followed by the syncopated pants of laboured breathing. The king clutched his wife's hand anxiously. After five hours of labour, the birth of his first child was almost at hand. He reached out through their Bond to mentally caress his wife, sending waves of reassurance and comfort. Nekti smiled at his concern and silently teased him that he was even more nervous than she about the birth. The link vanished instantaneously as another contraction hit. Nekti squeezed her violet eyes shut and dug her nails into Amenhotep's clammy hands.  
  
Almost there, my morning star. You can do it. A female servant dabbed a linen cloth on the queen's forehead to absorb the beads of sweat.  
  
"My queen, it is time to push. Next time you feel a contraction, push with all your strength."  
  
Nekti's form strained forward as she felt the next stab of abdominal pain. The wooden backing of the birthing couch dug into her spine as she bent over and braced against her husband. Despite the discomfort, she concentrated all her might on bringing her child into the world. Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes as the woman willed her muscles to push. After an excruciatingly slow five seconds, she felt the baby's head crown. She opened her eyes to see her husband crane his head to get a better view of the child.  
  
Our first child; he's beautiful.   
  
"My queen, one more push and the baby's body will be out."  
  
Nekti shut her eyes again and willed the child out with mind and body. At last, she felt the tiny form exit her own in one smooth motion. Exhausted, the new mother let her upper body go limp. The woman had never experienced such deep fatigue. Her muscles burned and her skin was covered with a film of sweat but her mind was clear and her emotions shone with the rich afterglow of childbirth. She felt her husband's strong arms encircle her, lowering her gently back onto the couch. His excitement trembled in her mind but the emotions were distant in comparison to the demands of her tired body. The loud roar of rushing blood on fire with weariness filled her ears. Why wasn't the baby crying? she wondered dimly. The woman struggled to sit but the man pressed her firmly back onto the couch, demanding that she rest.  
  
The midwife wrapped the still-bloody child in clean linens after wiping the mucous membranes from his nostrils, allowing him to breathe. She cradled the child and gazed at him in a brief moment of wonder. Of all the births she had overseen, very few infants were born silent and unafraid into the world. This infant, like the others, was different. Special. Shaking herself out of her reverie, she gently handed the tiny prince to the new father and turned her attention to the afterbirth.  
  
The king Amenhotep ran a finger down the cheek of his first child, so newly come into this world. The infant stirred and opened his eyes. Crimson orbs reflected back into crimson as father and son shared their first glance. Amenhotep's heart swelled with pride and love. He smiled fondly as an ebony Sennen eye burned briefly on the little one's forehead. His first child was a child of the Dark, the Sennen eye a symbol of his ancient lineage and inherent power. The king's own Sennen eye glowed in response and a Bond was woven between father and son. Both symbols disappeared briefly. Amenhotep felt the stirrings of curiousity and wonderment emanate from the child as the large crimson eyes roamed across the features of his father's face. He tentatively touched their Bond, sending the rich warmth of love and pride he felt to the infant. He blinked back tears of joy as the child reached out to him in turn.  
  
"Amen?"  
  
Amenhotep shifted over to his wife's side and placed their son into her waiting arms. The servants and midwives glided silently out of the room, removing bloody linens and basins of water. A slave girl lit sticks of incense and the room slowly infused with the rich warm fragrance of wood with a hint of cinnamon while another dimmed the room to a comfortable glow by blowing out several candles. With the light of the slim crescent moon gracing the desert night, Nekti's happy features were glazed with a dreamy brilliance as she held her son close to her heart. The newborn snuggled close to the heat of his mother's body and blinked his scarlet eyes at her violet ones.  
  
"I am proud of you, my morning star." The man embraced his wife with a passionate kiss, taking care to be gentle with the child in her arms. With the servants gone, Amenhotep relaxed his regal façade as the living Horus, ruler of the Two Lands of the Nile. "Our first child. He is perfect, so small and innocent. Our beautiful son."  
  
"Is he...?"  
  
"He is a child of the Dark." He could sense his wife's slight disappointment.  
  
"It is not that I am unhappy. You know as well as I do that it is difficult for dark halves."  
  
"I found you, though. Do no worry about the little one." Both parents smiled. The dilemma hung for a moment, then dissipated into the thick joy of the night.  
  
"What is his name?"  
  
Amenhotep answered without hesitation. "Yu-gi-oh." 


	2. Storm

Chapter One: Storm  
  
  
  
Three figures could be seen silhouetted against the fiery gold and orange hues of the setting sun. The rays of the sun god flamed around the figures, edging the trio in gold and carving long black shadows on the sandy courtyard behind them. The smallest figure yawned enormously, eliciting a chuckle from the man. The slightly shorter, slender figure of the woman picked up the child, and all three drew closer to enjoy the appearance of the bright silver moon waxing round just beyond the edge of the palace walls accompanied by smaller gems of the same brilliance that spilled across the night sky. Weaving tendrils of their Bond together as lovers interlace their fingers, Amenhotep and Nekti enjoyed the precious moment of privacy. Nekti leaned into the king's deep chest as they beheld the last glimmer of sun sink beneath the edge of the desert, bathing the land in dusk.  
  
The small child snuggled contently in the physical cocoon of his mother's arms and the mental nest of the family's Bond. He wished dreamily that the sun would hang there forever like the thin golden disks that had hung above his bed when he was younger. Then, his mom and dad would hold him forever, with his mother's long black hair lightly tickling his nose, breathing in his father's familiar scent. He felt the cool desert air ruffle through his hair lightly, flicking his blond bags in gentle teasing. The wind seemed to whisper soothing night lullabies like the melodies that were the last sound he heard before falling asleep.  
  
  
  
Desert Dark, It is night  
  
Darkness falls, Hush, sleep tight  
  
The stars appear Shining bright  
  
In the depths Of the night  
  
Dream in peace Without fright  
  
For morning star Will soon alight  
  
Should you dream In forever night  
  
Your Light will shine To make things right  
  
  
  
Like so many other evenings, the little child was carried off to dream on the wings of the childhood song.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Dull disks of gold greeted Yami as his large crimson eyes peaked out from underneath his eyelids. The little prince frowned as he sat up to the darkness in his own room. The thin linen sheets puddled around him in bunches, entangling themselves in his short legs. They felt clammy and cold. He lay there, gazing longingly at the round golden ornaments decorating the ceiling. If only the sun had not set and night had not come, then he would still be cuddled in the warmth of his parents in the palace gardens. Yami longed for the cozy comfort of his parents' closeness, but he knew they would scold him for scampering into their room. After all, he was a big boy, having witnessed five inundations of the river. He was expected to 'act mature'. The little prince was still unsure of what this strange command meant, but he knew it prevented him from spending much time with his parents. A sliver of loneliness stuck into his heart; he wanted to spend the night with his mother and father, for it was not often that they were together.  
  
Yami closed his eyes and found the storm of his dark feelings boiling under the brown skin of his breast. It hurt to keep the storm locked inside, like a cat huddled and hissing inside a cage too small for its agile form. The storm clawed at him, demanding to be let out.  
  
Concentrating, the child felt the darkness of the calm night sky, a cool cloudless mirror. He reached out with tendrils of feeling and brushed his anger into the night, clouding the deep blue with a thick cover that swirled and roiled like the waters of the Nile River during the flood season. The storm within him felt less heavy. Encouraged, Yami let his mind sink slowly into the thickening clouds.  
  
Heavy drops spattered down to make wet circles in the dry golden sand, mimicking the small tears that were slowly exploring the curve of the little boy's cheek. The child unconsciously exhaled. The action reverberated through the night as a sudden gust of cold wind that knifed through the sands as Yami meshed his feelings into a sudden storm that pounded on the palace walls in surprising fury. The beggars caught unawares in the maelstrom moved under the flimsy outcroppings of the stands in the marketplace. A few cocked their heads curiously as they heard hints of a sad moan weaving between the bursts of wind, then shook their heads and moved deeper into the dark alleyways. The sky tinged lightly red, the hue of the little prince's half-opened eyes. Like the clouds, they were a dull crimson. Suddenly, they flashed angrily, followed seconds later by thin tines of lightening that snaked their way through the dark fury of the storm. With the storm in full progress, Yami withdrew back into his body and fully opened his eyes, which were now sparkling with a mischievous light. The child exhaled as if to rid himself the rest of the storm of emotions that had churned inside him moments ago and threw back the covers. He carefully opened the bedroom door a crack and pressed his nose against the wooden frame. Good, the servants were asleep and no one would hurry him off to bed, except... There were two guards positioned between him and his destination just down the corridor. They chatted idly and flicked a glance through the hall occasionally. Yami grinned. It was almost too easy to be true.  
  
The prince slid open a corner of his toy box and fished out a small glass marble from amongst the jumble of toys, then crouched low again and eased the wooden door open just enough to slip out the hand holding the trinket. Reaching out with a mental finger, he stifled the torches illuminating the hall, throwing the corridor into shadow. The guards stirred and conversed briefly before one left to fetch a torch. That left the single sentry and he could look but in one direction at a time. Yami suppressed a giggle as he aimed expertly and flicked the marble in the opposite direction. It pinged loudly against one of the bronze vases filled with thick fronds of papyrus lining the hall. The guard's head jerked up at the sound and left his post warily in order to investigate the disturbance. Yami seized the opportunity to scamper across the corridor on silent little feet, bending down low. Keeping an eye on the guard, he struggled with the heavy door. It refused to budge. The boy threw all his weight backwards and was rewarded with a small crack just wide enough for his slim body to squeeze through. Just in time too. The guard had picked up the marble and, satisfied with the explanation, had begun to turn around to resume his post when he caught a glimpse of golden hair out of the corner of his eye.  
  
"Hey, help me relight the hallway." The guard spun around at the voice to catch the flaming torch flying his way. The light of the fire showed the pharaoh's door to be closed, nothing out of the ordinary. The man blinked. Perhaps he was more tired than he felt. Dismissing it as a trick of the darkness, the guard shrugged and began to relight the hallway.  
  
That was close, Yami breathed in relief at closing the door just in time. He rubbed a small hand across his forehead.  
  
/What are you doing out of bed, little Yu-gi-oh?/ Yami gulped as the stern voice echoed through his mind. Being called by his full name usually meant that he had done a Bad Thing. Turning around, he saw an amused Nekti and a sleepy, slightly- annoyed Amenhotep towering over him waiting for an answer. He widened his large crimson eyes to stare innocently up at his parents, fingers playing with his thin sleeping tunic.  
  
"The storm woke me up." The king frowned and Yami braced himself for the lecture he knew was about to come. To his relief, his mother stepped forward and picked him up. He flung his arms around her neck and kissed her, bringing a smile to her lips.  
  
/Nekti, you shouldn't spoil the child. And we both know the storm did not wake him up./  
  
/We can discuss it later. Yami needs his rest./ Nekti closed their Bond as she carried the delighted child to the large bed with her husband in tow. Amenhotep's features softened and he shrugged to himself. There was no convincing his wife otherwise, especially if he did not wish to sleep on the floor tonight. He watched the child attempt to hide himself in the stacks of large pillows, only to be betrayed by tufts of unruly hair sticking out. Grinning with a mischievousness that reviled his son's, he pounced on the little prince and wrapped him in blankets while Yami giggled and tried to squirm out of reach. A few feathers flew in the air as father and son engaged in a small pillow fight. Nekti rolled her eyes.  
  
"If you two do not mind, at least one of us would like to get to sleep tonight." With that, she pushed her husband and son off the bed with surprising strength to reclaim the slightly rumpled pillows. The man and child landed on the thick rug with a soft thud then sheepishly climbed back up in a more subdued fashion. Yami nestled between both parents and yawned enormously. The crimson eyes drooped and before long, the little chest rose and fell in the steady rhythm of sleep. Outside, the rain lessened to a light mist that left fat drops of moisture clinging to the tough desert plants and gradually disappeared altogether into the night. 


	3. Guardian

Chapter Two: Guardian  
  
  
  
Yami slowly surfaced from his sleep, consciousness gently bubbling up from the depths of slumber. An unfocused pair of crimson eyes blinked several times before they lost their dream-glazed look. It took several moments for Yami to realize that he was not in the palace, tucked in the safety of his parents' embrace. He was in the oddly familiar room he usually found himself in when he awoke from sleep. The comfortable bed with sheets of midnight blue in which he lay occupied most of the room. Toys and puzzles crowded the floor like a miniature city made of colourful interlocking pieces. He breathed in the warm smell of the room, pulling the linens up to his chin to delight in their soft touch. It felt as if he belonged in this place or perhaps, it belonged to him. He could never put a finger on the feeling, but the room felt as though it was only complete when he was in it. Although he had spent many hours searching for the room in the palace, he had never been able to find it. Only late at night, when the world was asleep and somehow, he too lay dreaming as he did now in another place between his mother and father, he would come to this special room. He was awake in this room and yet, still sleeping.  
  
Shifting liquid forms flowing on the ceiling caught the eye of the young prince. Yami took a moment to examine them. They were pictures of events that had happened to him, dancing across the broad expanse of the ceiling as they replayed themselves as if to the prince's amusement. The edges of memories blended together in swirls of colours more brilliant than those that clothed the jewels in his mother's beaded necklaces. Changing perspective, the little prince shifted his focus so that he was looking at the golden film that covered the moving images. Like the river waters on a clear sunny day, he could look through the film to look into the ceiling's depths at his memories, but at the same time he could see the surface itself. There were slivers of light swimming on the surface of the memory ceiling like needle-thin fish. Yami squinted briefly to look at the delicate symbols of waves, sticks, dots and animals. He could identify it as writing but he could only pick out the few words that his tutors had taught him.  
  
As interesting as the ceiling was however, it was hardly enough to satiate the appetite for curiousity of a little boy. Fully awake now, Yami sat up and rolled off the bed. Picking himself up, he made his way carefully across the labyrinth of toy pieces to the only door in the room. Yami opened it easily. Unlike the doors at the palace, this one was perfectly his size and height so that he did not have to perch on his toes to reach the handle. The young prince giggled to himself, his face alight with mischief. The laughter bounced off the blocks in the stone hallway, the mirthful sound making them glow in faint hues of gold. The stones were warm under the boy's bare feet, as if they had been absorbing the warmth of the desert sun.  
  
The stone hallway opened into an enormous area. As far as the eye could see, it was filled with stairways and slides made of stone and clay that twisted about each other like geometric snakes. Yami rushed eagerly to the closest stairway of the gigantic playground in barely contained excitement and began to climb step by step, making his way to a pinnacle of rock. This was what he looked forward to every day. The playground was on endless room of fun. He never ran out of stairways to explore, slides to go down, doors to explore. It was as if all the stairs, slides and doors moved around everyday to invent new adventures.  
  
He jumped onto a slide and began his descent. The air whistled in his ears as a surge of adrenaline rushed through him. Yami felt as if he were flying, a falcon in a tight dive knifing through the sky to plunge towards the ground only to soar upward as the wind blew under its outstretched wings. He spread his arms outwards, letting the wind rush through his fingers. Any moment, he should pull up from the dive.  
  
Suddenly, the bottom of the stone slide gave out and blackness dropped in like a stone. Panicking, the little boy flailed his arms and legs to catch the wind as he felt himself falling through the dark, trying to soar back to the slide, back to the room where he belonged.  
  
Yami jolted awake with a sensation of falling. He clutched the bunched-up linens tightly in clammy wet hands, waiting for his heart to stop racing. He looked around, unsure of where he was. Bright sunlight was slicing through the air, hurting his eyes. Hadn't he just fallen into a dark hole?  
  
Yami, time to wake up sleepy-head. Ra has journeyed far across the sky already. The child groaned as he heard his father chiding him awake. He shut the day out with his eyelids and turned onto his side, trying to invite sleep again. He had had barely any time to play, let alone rest.  
  
Yami suddenly found his shell of linens whisked off him as two strong hands hauled him off the bed by his armpits. Stubbornly, he attempted to curl his knees to his chest but the hands were persistent in keeping him awake. Annoyance puckered the prince's face, an amusing expression since his eyes were still closed.  
  
Your father and I will be away for two days, little dark, a gentler voice intoned. Be good and work hard at your lessons. Wide crimson eyes filled with disappointment opened as if to search for the source of the voice. Not again. His parents had just returned two days ago and now they were off again. He felt his parents feather a soft mental kiss in his mind. A moment too late, he tried to reach out with his own but they had withdrawn from the Bond, leaving him alone.  
  
Yami sighed. Another day by himself. Again. He felt a small nudge of anger. It wasn't fair. Why did his have to be so busy all the time? He glared at his nurse as she began to brush through his wild shock of hair, wrinkling his nose as she worked out the snarls among the gold streaks. Her hands began to efficiently slip him into a cotton skirt and buckle sandals on his feet but the little boy hardly noticed as he was deep in thought. His mind knew that his parents were important people and needed to take care of the many things in the Two Lands. but that included him as well, so why couldn't they spend a few more days with him?  
  
Ab and oum are busy. They need to look after the needs of the people, his mind whispered.  
  
But when do they take care of me? his heart replied.  
  
I must be mature so that I may learn to act like a Big Person.  
  
Then why do I feel so small?  
  
Yami thought of the long dull hours in front of him, crawling by like the slow plod of a tired donkey. The days he spent alone seemed like they would never end. Lesson after lesson of writing and reading and training; it felt as if he were tossed around like a ball from one teacher to the next.  
  
A hand worn by years of work, still soft under the calluses, brushed against Yami's wet cheek. The little boy looked up to stare into the sympathetic brown eyes of his nursemaid. The gentle brown face offered her young charge a small smile of comfort. She crouched in front of the little boy and wiped away the tears on his face with the edge of her dress. He quickly swiped at them with a small palm, embarrassed that he still needed Serrah for comfort. Seeing that the young prince was in no mood for sympathy from her, Serrah stood up and took his hand in her worn calloused one. He thanked her with a half-hearted nod, noticing that she was carrying her small infant, a sweet babe with big eyes of liquid brown like hers. The infant smiled down at him as if there was nothing wrong in the world. Yami looked at the infant enviously as Serrah led him to the tables where the morning meal would be served. If only things were that simple.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Yami stared at the dry sheets of papyrus laid out in front of him, willing them to burn to ash by the sheer ferocity of his gaze. They rustled as he sighed, realizing that they would not ignite anytime soon. He needed to finish his mathematics before he could have any dinner but the warm evening made him drowsy and sluggish. Small dots and lines began to sway back and forth across the sheet as the young prince's vision blurred. Slowly, the symbols blended together into fuzzy black shapes swimming on a tan background as Yami's eyes drooped and closed. The student cradled his head in his arms over his work and let sleep take over.  
  
The little boy awoke at an easy pace. He stretched limbs cramped from bending over his work for too long, feeling his muscles quiver with pleasure. Looking around, Yami found that he was sitting in the middle of a long hallway lined with marching rows of doors that stretched behind and before him. The young heir of the throne to the Two Lands cocked his head to the side in perplexion. He had never been here before.  
  
Stepping up to a door, Yami tried to open it. Locked. Undeterred, the little boy moved on to the adjacent door, which was locked as well. The third one opened easily but much to his disappointment, it was completely empty. Yami frowned in frustration. The doors in his waking dreams held no secrets from him and were usually filled with fun toys and puzzles. These mysterious doors that refused to open and held nothing exciting were strange. They did not belong to his room. His room did not keep shut him out as these doors did. He stuck his tongue out at them and hmphed in contempt when they did not respond to his challenge.  
  
Yami walked down the hall slowly, pausing every now and then to try yanking a door open. Most doors were closed and the ones that were open were empty. Yami gave up on unravelling the mystery of the locked doors and settled instead for examining the intricate artwork engraved in the cold stone walls. The stone reliefs displayed different animals and warriors engaged in battle. Important-looking people stood behind them, staring at the scene with cold pupil-less eyes. Yami shivered slightly and walked faster to get away from the silent spectators. He did not like the way their eyes were empty. Wandering farther down the hall, the young prince found images of large scaly creatures that, despite being carved in stone, looked powerful and regal. Small jewels set as eyes sparkled in the dim light of the hallway so that they appeared to follow the child. These powerful creatures reminded him of his father when he assumed his office as king and forgot to be his ab. Yami wondered where his father was. He wished he could show him these animals and ask him what their names were, for surely his father would know. His father knew everything but unfortunately he was not there to divulge his knowledge. Yami sighed slightly and moved on.  
  
The young boy was examining the image of what seemed like a ball of fur with large eyes when he felt a breath of air move past him. Turning around, Yami discovered that a door was slightly ajar. The dark crevice beckoned to him in invitation, finding a willing reply in the little prince. Something urgently whispered to Yami that he needed to find out what was behind that particular door.  
  
The little boy slipped inside. His crimson eyes widened in a mixture of surprise and awe as he saw what the room held. The expansive atrium was dimly lit as if sunlight were filtered through clouds of dancing dust motes. The entire room was filled with giant stone tablets perched haphazardly in seeming disarray, though they were arranged in concentric rows of semi-circles so that the grey planes of the tablets were all facing the visitor. Yami held his breath as he studied the tablets, slowly wandering around to get a better view. They were unlike anything he had ever seen before. On the tablets were carvings of the animals and warriors that he had seen outside, one creature occupying the face of each single stone slab. The entities stood at attention, eyes staring ahead at nothing. Yami touched several of them lightly, pulling his hand away quickly so as not to awaken them from their stony silence. The shadows shifted when he walked among the tablets, making it seem as though the creatures were moving.  
  
Yami slid deeper into the maze of tablets, drawn by the strange warriors and creatures. An uncomfortable feeling descended on him as the shadows began to envelop him and cold fear gripped his heart as he slowly became aware of the feeling that a pair of eyes were burning into his back. Frequently looking over his shoulder, Yami softened his footsteps and slowed his breathing to make less noise in the oppressive gloom. He felt scared and alone but he felt a relentless fascination for the stone tablets. He knew he would not be satisfied if he had left without looking through the entire room. The young prince felt as if he were looking for something, something of great important. He had no idea what this unnamed something was, only that it was here and if he looked hard enough and long enough, he would find it. Teetering between his fear of being followed and the need to finish his search, Yami pressed on.  
  
The little boy squeezed between two tablets to reach another tier. Letting his feet carry him, he found himself in front of an enormous slab of shiny black stone. On it was carved a serious-looking man with flowing robes that matched his long hair, which was mostly hidden underneath a tall pointed hat. Yami smiled as his heart leapt at the sight of the tablet. He knew that this was what he was looking for although he still had no idea why. It just felt right. This tablet belonged to him like no other tablet in the room. It was like his room with the memoryscape ceiling. It had the power to make him feel complete. He reached out a hand to touch the tablet.  
  
A click of a claw sounded behind him. The fear that he had momentarily forgotten flared to consume all other feelings. Yami pivoted on one foot, taking a step back with the other but his pursuer was faster. Before the boy could turn to face his opponent, a dark blur sprung onto his back and dug in its nails. The little boy yelled in pain and fell forward, smashing onto the black tablet. The weight jumped off its victim to survey it from the shadows between two large tablets. Black muscles tensed in anticipation as a low growl filled the young prince's ears. Yami rolled onto his back, crawling backwards as he stared in terror at many pairs of cold green eyes. The powerful cat-like creature was enormous but what terrified Yami the most was the green flame of hunger that burned in the many eyes. Without warning, the creature took to the air again in a powerful bound. Unable to get out of the way in time, Yami thrust his hands in front of his face in a useless gesture of defence and slammed his eyes shut. He reflexively placed his strongest mental barriers in front of him but he knew it was futile. They were simply not strong enough. He shook uncontrollably, waiting for the fury of the sharp claws.  
  
The attack never came. Through closed eyelids, Yami sensed a flash of bright light. The monster roared in pain. He dared not look, making himself as small as possible as another flash burst in a brilliant moment before the room was plunged into silence and darkness. A few ragged sobs broke the stillness as the young prince curled around himself. He felt a warm liquid splash onto his hands and knees and found that the sobs were the sound of him crying.  
  
Yami felt a pair of strong arms lift him up from behind. Still in shock, he exploded in a flurry of arms and legs, trying to get away. His back burned like fire but he continued to fight blindly though he had no knowledge of what or who he fought. The arms held him close to a warm body until he had finished thrashing and was just crying, sobbing, the fear running out of him in hot tears. The arms held him close, soothing him until he was quiet. The boy cried until he was exhausted and the tears gradually lessened. He felt hot and sleepy, a dry sob wracking through him every once in a while. Letting sleep fold over him, he slowly relaxed into the arms, sensing that they meant him no harm. A hand brushed his cheek softly. Yami dared open his eyes long enough to see a pair of blue eyes filled with concern, framed by long purple hair. With that last image, the little boy fell asleep in the safety of the arms. 


	4. Healing

Chapter Three: Healing  
  
Two figures rode on top of a streak of silver, racing across the desert sands through the coolness of the desert night. The giant animal flew across the sand dunes like a breath of wind despite the burden of the two passengers entangled in its thick white mane, feet barely grazing the ground. The deep rumble of its panting broke the silence of the desert at regular intervals. The silver mist of the animal's breath was hurled past its body by the fierce wind, mixing with the cloud of sand the powerful hindquarters kicked up. At her master's silent and anxious urging, the silver animal increased its impossibly fast pace to hurdle towards Memphis.  
  
//Please, let him be alright.//  
  
The woman held on to the silent plea as tightly as she grasped the white fur of the silver animal as tears streamed from her lavender eyes. It gave her hope and strength to battle the worry that threatened to consume her since the messenger had burst into the chambers of the king and brought the terrible news. It had happened. They had found him in his room, seemingly asleep but the young prince could not be awakened. The Healers were at a lost. Come, quickly. They had needed no urging, leaving affairs that were suddenly of much less importance in the hands of the district officials. My queen, it is unsafe to travel by water at night. No, we must go. Nekti, we cannot; we must wait until daylight. We will go on my Guardian. You cannot sustain her at night. You have not the strength. I must have the strength.  
  
//Ab and I are coming, little dark. Hold on.// She shuddered to think of the child's bright eyes dulled by the trance, staring at nothingness while the mind and heart wandered in wending paths of the Shadows. It had been so sudden...but not without warning. The suspicion crept upon her on icy fingers of dread. The storm. It must have taken great powers of Shadow energy to unleash such fury in the dry heat of the Red Lands. She knew that her son possessed the Shadow powers, being a Child of the Dark. Such was his blessing and his curse as a scion of this line of kings but, she reasoned furiously, he should not have been able to access the powers, much less harness them to create the storm, having only seen five inundations of the Nile in his short life. Unless...  
  
Needles of fear and horror pierced Nekti's heart as realization came into sharp focus. The young child had been distant and troubled lately, dark moods slipping over the normally sunny disposition. He had not wanted them to leave him but had endured their absences silently, the crimson eyes stormy with pent frustration and anger. It must have been the catalysis that opened the floodgates of the Shadows, she realized. They had driven their son into the Shadows. A bitter urgent fear rushed through her veins. Nekti silently begged her Guardian to run faster, faster towards her son. She needed to be at his side. Silver Fang responded and Nekti felt herself weaken as she transferred energy to the animal.  
  
/Nekti, you must rest. You cannot keep this up,/ Amenhotep gently reasoned.  
  
/But I must! Our son needs us!/  
  
/It will not help him if you are exhausted when we reach him. He needs us, but you will not be able to help him if you do not have enough strength./  
  
/But I must! You do not understand fully, Amen./  
  
/How can I not understand? I know what you feel, Nekti. My heart burns as well,/ he replied quietly.  
  
/Then you must see that it is our fault that he walks in Shadows at this moment. We should have never left him. How can we be so irresponsible, especially after the storm?/  
  
Amenhotep tightened his arms around his wife's waist in a gesture of comfort. /Our son is strong. He will survive./  
  
/But he is barely even a child yet! How can he withstand the perils of the Realm of Shadows, even if he is a Child of Dark? Our little dark.../ Nekti bowed her head as she let the pain flow. She was tiring rapidly, dimly aware that, if not for her husband, she would have fallen off the silver Guardian.  
  
/I have sent Azrak to search the Shadows already. Trust in him. He is doing all he can./ Amenhotep felt the intense determination of his Guardian as the Sage roamed through the lost paths of the Shadows, braving the perilous mists between the Realms to search for a single lost child in the limitless expanse. His own heart ached with worry. He took a deep breath, letting the cold air sting his lungs. He needed to keep calm and be wary of letting his emotions colour his judgment, for it was now that he needed the clarity of cool judgment the most. His wife and his son depended upon it.  
  
/Please Amen, ask the Sage to take you to Yami by way of the Shadows. I will be alright. Silver Fang can carry me to Memphis by the time Ra rises- //  
  
/No, you are in no condition to be left alone./ He felt the expected flash of anger but continued. /My Guardian can travel faster without me by his side and even if I were to command him, he would refuse to take me into the Shadows. There is nothing I can do by going that route, except to lose my own way. Azrak has sent out many others to search for Yami already. It is only a matter of time before Yami is found,/ he soothed. Faith strengthened his words, though he knew not how he could believe them to be true. Perhaps it was enough that he had the grace to hope.  
  
But will he be unscathed? Amenhotep wondered privately.  
  
Nekti's mind swayed in turbulent fatigue but she continued to lend her strength to her silver Guardian, hanging on by sheer will to the edge between exhaustion and collapse. The silver wolf continued its fear-driven flight across the desert, towards a little boy that could not be awoken.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
The blue-eyed warrior glanced at the child cradled in his arms. The boy had ceased to struggle, lapsing into an exhausted sleep. The small hands - so unlike his own long rough ones, he noted - clung to the front of his robes, pulling the fabric against the soft red cheek. He continued to gaze entranced at the small figure, so innocent and helpless in his arms. Suddenly, he was aware of the warm stickiness seeping through his robes where his arms supported the child's back. The monster had hurt the child. The tall man cursed his own ignorance. Why had he not noticed before? He set out in long strides towards the doorway.  
  
The tall warrior flitted between the shadows, leaping over fallen stone tablets in his haste. Making his way to the outer hall, the warrior closed his pale cobalt eyes and muttered a spell. When he opened them again, the hallway had disappeared. In its place was a darkly lit room that resembled the inside of a wooden hut. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling, on racks and shelves, while powdered roots sat in wooden bowls. The air was thick with the fragrance of healing herbs and tasted slightly smoky from the small fire burning in the brick fireplace in the corner, over which hung an enormous clay cauldron that was simmering. Ignoring the drowsy effect of the atmosphere, the warrior crossed the small room in three great strides to the corner opposite of the fireplace.  
  
A man sat there, his hands folded in his lap and his eyes closed, the image of a third eye marking him as a Healer glowing brilliantly on his forehead. In front of him rested a crystal ball on a satin cushion, the only luxurious item in the entire room. The orb was filled with shifting designs, visions of the past, present and future. The dancing colours vanished abruptly at the approach of the two visitors. The warrior genuflected on one knee in front of the meditating man, taking care not to jar the child in his arms. At the sound of the warrior's shifting purple robes, the Healer opened his eyes.  
  
"Master Keto, I apologize for disturbing your meditation but I am in dire need of assistance." Seldom had the warrior needed the help of the wise old Healer and never had he pleaded for assistance. He suffered his battle wounds proudly. The words felt strange on his tongue but he felt no hesitation. Something urged him to take care of the child, whatever the cost to himself or his warrior's pride. He could feel the stickiness of dried blood coating his fingers.  
  
Without hesitation, Di'An Keto stood up and took the unconscious child from his guardian. The warrior stiffened protectively but forced himself to relax as the Healer glanced at him piercingly with shocking purple eyes. The shaman gently laid Yami facedown on a straw mat near the fireplace and knelt down beside him. The small boy shifted slightly in his sleep, wincing in pain as the wounds on his back drew pain from the movement. Procuring a small knife from his pocket, the Healer cut through the blood-soaked tunic to reveal the child's back. What the warrior saw almost made him physically sick. Yami's back was gouged with several puncture holes from the beast's claws. Some blood had dried and crusted around the wounds, while more was slowly pooling in the hollows of the boy's back. The warrior's hand jerked slightly, as if to touch the wounds but he compelled himself to wait patiently for the Healer. A grim smile touched his lips though it failed to reach his eyes. At least that foul creature of Shadows had paid dearly. He had made sure of that.  
  
Di'An Keto laid his hands softly on Yami's back, taking care to cover the wounds with as little movement as possible. He closed his strange purple eyes and began to chant in a rich deep voice, filling the room with the cadences of ancient healing spells. His heart too went out towards the small boy. Most of those that sought his help were jaded warriors like the one that had brought the child to his attention, soldiers with battle scars that crisscrossed their backs and limbs. They were hardened against pain, suffering; if they did suffer, they rarely showed it as was the custom of their people. The Healer concentrated, sensing the wounds in his mind as if they were red-hot coals that emitted a bright glow. He reached out with his power, directing it with the incantation. The wounds were deep yet cleanly cut. They responded quickly under the powerful magic of the master Healer. The jabbing pain subsided into a small dull throb and the flesh began to reconstruct itself. The blood vessels repaired themselves, stopping the bleeding. Layers of skin began to build on top of the healed flesh, layer upon layer until the wound closed up without a hint of a scar.  
  
The weathered fingers stroked the unblemished skin as the Healer surveyed his work with satisfaction. Di'An Keto was about to withdraw his magic when something else caught his attention. A sliver of the shadow beast's claw had imbedded into the child's back. Even as he detected it, the sliver dissolved and was gone. Frowning, the Healer searched harder for the fragment. After much searching, he felt it, a shadow over the child's heart. Delving deeper, he found himself suddenly surrounded by intense swirls of emotion. Pain, happiness, fear, doubt, loneliness, joy, and sorrow washed over him in great waves, so powerful that it nearly knocked the Healer over physically. This young child was a perplexing case.  
  
Quickly, the apothecary withdrew his power from the boy and opened his strange violet-coloured eyes to see the warrior standing a stoic yet protective distance away. His jaw was set at a determined angle and he kept an erect soldier's posture, ready for combat, but his cerulean eyes betrayed him. Normally, they held an icy edge but at the moment they were grey with worry as they gazed intently at the small patient. Seeing Di'An Keto stir, he moved to speak but the Healer cut him off.  
  
"The injury has been taken care of. The boy needs plenty of rest at the moment. Make sure he is not disturbed."  
  
With that, the healing master stood up and moved to a rack of dried herbs. Procuring several crumpled leaves from a vine, he put them in a wooden bowl and crushed them, releasing a sweet clean smell. He ladled some liquid from the cauldron in the fireplace and mixed it into the herbs, creating a salve that he spread onto his charge's back. Yami stirred slightly at the touch then relaxed as the healing balm soothed away any lingering pain. Cerulean eyes monitored every move. Master Keto gently picked up the small boy and placed him in the arms of the slightly surprised warrior.  
  
"I have done what I can. The rest is up to you."  
  
"What is the meaning of your words, Master Keto?" The warrior caught a shrewd glimpse that briefly flitted across the Healer's neutral features, as if the Healer were sizing him up.  
  
"Not all wounds are wounds of the flesh. Wounds of the heart can only be cured by time. Now, it is time for you to leave."  
  
"I. do not know where to bring the boy." The warrior wore an expression of open puzzlement. "This child is not."  
  
"Are you so sure about that, warrior? Who is to decide that but the heart and the soul?" He held the other's gaze for a moment before the warrior looked away. The young one would learn to trust his own answers in time. "Farewell, warrior of the Azima." With that, Master Keto retreated back to his previous engagement of meditation.  
  
The blue-eyed warrior stood in the middle of the small room, uncertain of what to do. The Healer, who had now sunk into subconscious realms, provided no direction. He could not bring the child back to the Hall; it was too dangerous but neither could he stay in the quarters of the Healer. Perhaps to his own village? But it had been so long since he returned home that he was unsure of whether he would be able to find a place to stay. Pondering his dilemma, the warrior's eyes slowly drifted to examine the young boy he held in his arms. What did the Healer mean by wounds of the heart? Was the child hurt beyond the master's skill to heal? The warrior was so wrapped up in though that he did not notice the smoke-filled room of Di'An Keto begin to blur and fade.  
  
Guard him well.  
  
The warrior snapped to attention at the voice. He found that the abode of the Healer was gone, replaced with a room of bright colours that was softly lit by undulating patterns of light emitted from the shifting ceiling. Noticing a bed, he made his way carefully across a debris-covered floor and gently placed the child in it, tucking him under the blankets. The boy promptly curled onto his side and gathered a fistful of soft blanket. The warrior smiled as he sank carefully onto the bed at the child's feet. The boy looked so peaceful in his sleep. Leaning languidly against a bedpost, the warrior sat down to think and keep watch over the night. 


	5. Awakening

Awakening  
  
Nekti gritted her teeth as she fought against the consuming fatigue. Her muscles burned with the fiery heat of the Red Lands while her skin was a layer of ice, the desert night covering her with its frosty breath. She was trapped between fire and ice. Her body cried out in exhaustion and pain. Its demands for rest were ignored as the heart and mind removed themselves from the weak trappings of the flesh. She was only dimly aware of the strong hands that gripped her waist and the sleek muscles of the giant silver wolf pulsing under her thighs, so concentrated was she on her single goal. Her mind, though beginning to numb from the strain of sustained tension, was surprisingly clear. The Shadows. She had to get to her son before the Shadows consumed him. It hungered after souls, even those of its own children, if those pitiable bastards of Light and Dark indeed possessed the ba and ka. It hungered especially the Dark children. She shuddered from the thought, though she was flush from the heat of exertion.  
  
A vivid memory rose unbidden to the foremost of her thought. Her nostrils flared in remembrance of the unmistakeable odour of wasting death. The unclean smell of rot and decay pulled her into the memory's embrace. The prince lay on the sickbed, the slight rise and fall of his chest so faint that she had thought that Osiris had already summoned his ka from its earthly vessel. The thin hand was pale under the brown skin, cold as marble to the touch. She shied away from the memory, as she had at first flinched from the terribly still body. The memory persisted. The woman frowned at it in defiance. She had summoned the courage to walk through the lost paths of the Realm of Shadows and had emerged from its mists. But not unchanged. What she had seen... she stiffened slightly. She had faced the Realm once and it had terrified her, like looking into the eyes of a serpent ready to strike. She was afraid of this night without day, this darkness without light. But she knew that she would walk through a thousand nights to rescue her child.  
  
//You will not walk them alone, my morning star. I will guide you.// The exhausted woman smiled and sent a mental pulse of gratitude through their telepathic link. The king responded in kind, filtering his emotions to hide his anxiety and frustration. He did not begrudge his wife her role, though it taxed her strength sorely. She needed this so it was his task to ensure she did not grossly overstep her own boundaries. Perched astride the silver Guardian with naught to do but flatten both their bodies close to the undulating back of the giant wolf, he allowed himself an admission. He felt helpless. With his own Guardian searching the dimensions of the Realm of Shadows, he could do nothing but wait. Wait for morning to come to lighten the immense burden on his wife and to await news in hope and fear from his Sage of Darkness. And he could do nothing else. The man's own frustrations were mirrored in that of his Guardian's. In his mind's eye, he saw the bright glow of the Sage's presence wandering in the dark places of the Shadow Realm in search for the lost child. The Realm was vast, the hope slim as finding a needle in all the sands of the Red Lands but the sliver of hope was enough to drive the Sage into action. He longed to roam with his Guardian; to get up and move his body, urge his limbs to bear him the miles that lay before him to Memphis. His fingers tightened their grip on the silver hair.  
  
[Mu"allim.] A deep rich voice sounded in his mind and despite himself, Amenhotep smiled. [Azrak, no need for formalities. What is it?]  
  
[I have searched everywhere and I have found nothing.] Amenhotep had no words to answer. Relief and the cold fingers of dread swirled in his mind. The Sage ventured on. [There is one possibility, however, that I have not sought.]  
  
[What is it?]  
  
[Perhaps your son is not in the Realm itself, but in an extension of the Realm of his own making: the Seat of his Ba.]  
  
[Is there any way for you to access his Seat?]  
  
[No. It is impossible for any save your son's Guardian to directly access the Seat from the Realm.]  
  
Amenhotep narrowed his eyes in thought as his mind formulated a course of action. He took a deep breath, clearing his mind of distracting thoughts and emotions. [Azrak, you must transport us to the palace. There is someone there that may be of help.]  
  
The Guardian acquiesced. Amenhotep felt the Sage close his mind on their connection, reaching for the thread that joined Partner and Guardian. There was a heavy pull on Azrak's end and an odd sensation of shortening the thread, as if it were a tangible rope between the two entities. Amenhotep guided the Sage's spell of binding by pulling lightly on his own end of the thread, stopping when he felt his wife's Silver Guardian lope to a halt as the powerful Magician materialized. Gently disentangling his fingers from the matted silver hair, Amenhotep dismounted the giant wolf and placed a hand on her muzzle, pushing the wet nose down slightly to gaze into the intelligent amber eyes of the Guardian.  
  
[My thanks for your service, Silver Fang. Azrak will bear us to the palace.] The liquid eyes smiled. The wolf turned her head to nuzzle her Partner, who still sat rigidly upon her back. Amenhotep reached out to lift his wife down, aided by encouraging nudges from Nekti's Guardian. Nekti made a weak move to protest.  
  
/Let her go. You are too tired to sustain her any longer./  
  
/But who is searching for Yami if your Guardian is taking us to the palace?/  
  
/Azrak has searched the entire Realm. He suspects that our son's Ba may have taken temporary residence in his Seat and he is does not have the experience to return it to his body. That would be the only explanation for his current state./ And our last hope, he thought to himself privately as he shifted his wife's weight in his arms for a better grip. He was glad that she was too tired to demand to be put on her feet. There was a whisper of wind whistling through dense fur as the Silver Guardian disappeared into the darkness.  
  
The man closed his tired blood-red eyes and nodded. With a soft chant, the Dark Magic of the Sage engulfed him. He felt the golden desert lurch like a camel clumsily rising from its knees then race backwards faster than the wind, the city of Memphis jolting around them after a small fraction of a moment. Amenhotep ignored the similar lurch in his stomach as he stumbled slightly from the disorientation. Recovering quickly, he brushed off Azrak's concern and declined the Guardian's silent offer to carry his wife. He needed to feel her weight in his arms as much as she needed to feel his arms around him.  
  
The king and the Guardian glided quickly down the halls. Guards stared at them quizzically, wondering at the absence of the king's company and the state of their queen though they posed no questions to their Majesty. Amenhotep and Azrak turned and twisted in the labyrinth of rooms and halls until they reached a non-descript clay door decorated with a finely painted golden eye of Horus. Before they could announce their arrival, the door opened and out stepped a man. Though the night was yet old, he was dressed in loose desert robes of white, his sand-blond hair hidden beneath a turban. In one hand, he clutched a golden ankh, the smooth metal surface winking even in the dimness of the hallway. The storm-grey eyes were clear and awake, calm and smooth as the flat planes of the ankh he held.  
  
"Golden One, I am at your service." The turbaned man held his posture.  
  
The king frowned in confusion. "How did you know I required your service?"  
  
The grey-eyed man smiled. A flap of wings behind him and a falcon landed on his shoulder. "A little bird told me." The smile melted into intense solemnity. "Come, we need to hurry." He stepped between the Guardian and the king with surprising quickness, beckoning for them to follow.  
  
Threading their way through the corridors, the group made their way to the prince's rooms. Amenhotep put his wife down at her insistence, though he held her close with a strong arm around her waist for balance. The nursery was lit by wicks dipped in pungent oils. The bed was surrounded by servants assisting three healers, who were absorbed in quiet discussion amongst themselves as they studied their young charge. The conversation ended abruptly in mid sentence at the entrance of the king as they descended to their knees and touched their heads to the ground.  
  
"Lord and Lady of the Two Lands."  
  
"Your task here is done. You may leave. We have wish to be alone with the prince." Bidding them to rise and leave, Amenhotep approached the bed slowly, helping his wife walk though she trembled slightly with exhaustion. A small figure lay on the clean white sheets, the eyes half-closed in a strange state between dream and waking. Nekti reached out to caress the cold cheek.  
  
Another memory stirred within her.  
  
The girl cautiously approached the bed attended by many servants. The same dreadful odour of decay pervaded her nostrils though the invasive scent of healing clouded the air like a cloak. Dull crimson eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, half-closed in the strange state between dream and waking. Her purple eyes gazed intently at the red ones, absorbed in the bloody depths of the iris. Lost in the swirl of crimson, the room faded, leaving only the redness. It pulled at her, tried to draw her into its vortex of fire. It sucked hungrily at the purple; she could not tear away. She resisted its vacuum, trying to twist her body away from the center of the gyrating red mass, which she could sense more than see was a deep dark consuming nothingness. It drained her, left her empty. Gasping, she used her hands to claw, as a drowning man does to reach the dancing ghosts of light that play teasingly at the water's surface.  
  
The girl was starting to tire. She drifted slowly towards the darkness that waited impatiently to claim its prize. Panic rose in her, like bubbles of gas that burst violently from the drowner's lungs. A silent scream contorted the fluid red walls of the vortex as the girl approached the darkness's gaping mouth. Suddenly, she felt a searing hot pain race through her veins, concentrating on her forehead. The fire swelled and exploded from her, banishing the darkness. Then, blackness descended to meet her as her eyes involuntarily closed.  
  
"Yami." Nekti sat down on the bed as her husband released her gently. She stared into her son's half-lidded eyes. Crimson, like the crimson that had pulled her into itself so long ago.  
  
Amenhotep nodded to the white-clad man, who stepped up to the bed. Nekti withdrew her hand and sat back, allowing the man to work. The round end of the golden ankh hovered briefly before coming to rest gently on the tip of the child's nose. A low hum of quietly murmured words issued from the man's lips as his grey eyes closed. He remained bent over the child, his body frozen in position as he freed his ba from its physical anchor. The disconnected part of him drifted in a moment's hesitation before finding a path down the golden length of the ankh. With a tendril of magic, the man beckoned the bas of the king and queen to follow. He noted that the Guardian had already amalgamated his own magic with that of the ankh, so he concentrated on guiding Amenhotep and Nekti. The ankh shimmered under the weight of the three bas then settled. The room was completely still, the bodies of its occupants frozen in space.  
~~~~~  
  
"What are you doing here?" The judge opened his grey eyes to see a purple- clad figure standing in the physical manifestation of the prince's Seat. Ice-blue eyes were narrowed calmly; the intensity of the gaze was incongruous with the youth that the figure displayed and gave the judge a moment's pause as he assessed this new challenge. It was obvious from the man's stance that he was a warrior, muscles lightly tense but under taut control. He stood with one foot slightly ahead of the other in a defensive stand in between the intruder and the sleeping boy. Even as he made his observations, the judge felt the gaze of the other repaying the action. He stayed perfectly still as he was in turn surveyed by the warrior, letting his glance flicker to the object of the warrior's protection to betray his intentions.  
  
"We may ask the same question, apprentice. You have no right to be here." The judge turned his head slightly, only just noticing that the Sage must have arrived the same time he did. The king's Guardian stepped between the judge and the warrior. Blue eyes locked on blue for a moment before the warrior lowered his head.  
  
"Elder," the warrior acknowledged. There was a ripple of magic as Amenhotep and Nekti entered the room. The parents rushed to their son's side despite the presence of the warrior. Nekti gathered the sleeping form in her arms and held him close, biting back the tears. The boy began to stir, squirming in his mother's embrace.  
  
"Do not touch him. He needs his rest." The warrior attempted to reach the boy but Amenhotep stepped in between before Azrak could speak.  
  
"Who are you to be telling us what to do?" he spat in anger. "What is your business here?" The livid red eyes were on fire and he drew himself to full imperious height. A dark Eye of Horus glowed on his forehead. The warrior offered nothing in response, his calm demeanour further stoking the fury of the king.  
  
"What have you done with my son?" Amenhotep could feel magic emanate from the warrior, though it strength was nowhere near as strong as the Magic required to enter a Seat of the Ba unbidden. Yet, there he stood, unmoving and silent to questions that he had obligation to answer. The Eye flamed to life. The king would not stand this insolence! Amenhotep raised his hand to mete out punishment.  
  
"Mu"allim, he is one of my people. I ask for the right to deal with him." Amenhotep turned his angry red eyes on his Guardian.  
  
[You expect me to let him go after what he did to my son?!]  
  
[Please Amenhotep. There is no proof that he has hurt your son. I understand your anger-]  
  
[You cannot possibly understand my anger.]  
  
[Perhaps I cannot understand it but I feel it as keenly as you do! I do not blame your anger but he is one of my own and it would be injustice to punish him without first letting him speak.]  
  
The human and his Guardian glared at each other, lost in argument. Seeing that their attentions were momentarily diverted from his person, the warrior risked a glance at the bed. The woman was holding her son and crying softly, while the grey-eyed man had a hand upon the child's forehead and was muttering a soft chant. With the grace of a hunter, he moved inconspicuously over to the bed. The grey-eyed man sensed his approach but made no move to stop him. Instead, the warrior was surprised to feel the other withdraw his probing tendrils of Magic from the child. He nodded his gratitude for the man's understanding, glad that he possessed wisdom.  
  
The woman gasped as he took the boy out of her arms. She was about to protest when he caught her strange amethyst eyes; she was a Child of Light but she had walked through the night and he could see her fear. The honesty of the emotion shone unabashed, even though she knew he could see it. He did not look upon her with disdain or pity but with respect for her openness. So it was that she reluctantly let him take the boy, consenting also in part out of sheer exhaustion but the weight of the child in his own arms told him that he had her trust. Gently, he pulled the child towards himself until their foreheads lightly touched. A power surged between them; he could feel the spark of magic that ignited but it felt unfamiliar, unlike the intoxicating power of Ancient Dark Magic yet at the same time, as if a part of him had awakened. The warrior held on to the golden thread of magic, pulling himself forward, or perhaps he was pulling whatever it was at the end of the thread towards himself, he could not be sure. He knew he had to reach the end of the cord, he would find himself- and yet not himself, for the presence was new to him.  
  
"What is he doing?" Amenhotep asked sharply as he suddenly noticed the warrior's actions. The angry man advanced towards the warrior, hand outstretched.  
  
"No." The king stared in shock at his wife's command. "Yami needs him."  
  
The warrior struggled to cross what seemed to be an infinite length of the thread, fighting for each small step of progress. As he got closer, the pull of the surrounding darkness increased in strength. It whispered to him and reached fingers to tear him away from the golden cord he held.  
  
[Sihrr...] The warrior almost dropped the thread in surprise. A whisper of a child's voice; how did it know his name? He pushed the question aside as he continued on with renewed strength. He laboured inch by inch across the thread until after what seemed like an eternity he reached a small child, curled up in the darkness fast asleep. He scooped the child up and opened his eyes to see sleepy red orbs that filled his entire vision. An enormous yawn threatened to swallow his nose before he could pull away from the child's face.  
  
"Yami!" The boy was swept up in the embrace of his parents. Seeing that his task was done, he let the child go. The warrior turned to face his elder.  
  
"We have much to talk about, warrior." The younger Being nodded, standing up from the bed. The two Beings disappeared from the room. The other occupants were oblivious to the sudden absence of the two Magicians. Save one.  
  
"Sihrr," Yami whispered.  
  
~~~~~  
All the strange words are actual Arabic  
  
Mu"allim: master  
  
Azrak: Blue (hehe, the word for purple was just too long)  
  
Sihrr: I'll let you guys guess that one *grin* 


	6. Punishment

Chapter Six: Punishment  
  
Two tall forms materialized on the outskirts of a settlement nestled in the crevices of a giant pinnacle of rock carved from long years of wind and snow. Graceful and fluted buildings built of the bones of the mountain rose before the two figures. The Sage strode towards them, keeping his eyes fixed forward and trusting the other to follow. The warrior did so, falling into stride behind the elder with steps that were silent and cat-like, an unconscious reflex from his many days patrolling the far expanse of wild territory. He wore an expression that mirrored the hardness of the rock around him, masking the wild flow of his thoughts. His mind was a frenzy of activity that whirled around one subject: the child.  
  
He could almost hear the child's whisper again. Sihrr. The boy had known his name. How? He had not given it nor had it been uttered in the unconscious child's presence. While the logical part of his mind twisted infinite possibilities, something tugged at his chest close to his heart. Turning his senses inward, he almost stumbled at what he saw but caught himself quickly by virtue of well-honed reflexes. He glanced at the elder to see if he had noticed the break in the smooth gait. He had not. Feeling a small measure of relief, Sihrr gazed inward again. He saw a golden thread, stretched tautly as if connected to something. It had no beginning or end, a vibrant loop of tangible energy that danced around his inner self, yet Sihrr felt it was connected to a familiar presence.  
  
The child, it had to be him.  
  
It was the same aura of innocence and magic that he had sensed from the moment he had rescued the child. The golden cord hummed and shimmered, tempting him to reach out and let it pull him to its other end. Again, there was a faint echo of the child's voice calling him by name. Sihrr. The young magician's hand was a breath away from the thread when he felt the presence of many elders suddenly manifest in the heart of the city where they were heading towards. With great reluctance, the warrior returned to his surface self. There were more pressing matters that needed to be addressed first.  
  
The two purple-clad figures arrived at their destination, a tall crystal formation that rose to meet the violet ash sky in sharp spires of lustrous black. Careful work with magic had cultured the crystal for architectural purposes, though its creation and evolution had mainly been left to the natural forces of wind and water. Like the powers that had shaped it, the structure held a rich raw power of Elemental Magic. The only overtly visible work was intricately designed windows chipped from the crystal that let light filter inside through shimmering panes of magic sustained by charms carved directly into the structure. Doors were unnecessary.  
  
The Sage and the warrior approached a mural inlaid with flecks of brilliant jewels arranged to form an entire wall of runes. Azrak touched it, murmuring the required spell to allow the both of them access to teleport through the crystal palace's magical barrier.  
  
Sihrr suddenly found himself in a small amphitheatre with a high ceiling of translucent crystal. The weak twilight glow of the indigo sky lit the floor of a slightly raised stage with a hard polish of black rock. Seated on chairs of the same hard stone, arranged concentrically about the circular stage was the Council of Elders. The various Sages had their gazes fixed on the center of the circle and were engaged in telepathic discussion. A heated one at that, Sihrr noted with growing discomfort, judging from the flinty glare of several Elders. Rarely did the council convene outside of annual gatherings to discuss business, and only under special or dire circumstances that necessitated quick and sure wisdom. The imposing group turned ten sets of piercing purple eyes at him and Sihrr felt naked under the intense scrutiny. He wrapped his thoughts away carefully and shuttered his eyes to his mind. Refusing to let the Elders see his anxiety, he held his head high. Let them mistaken it for insolence; a true warrior deferred to no one, especially to those he did not respect. Azrak motioned and the circle shifted subtly to allow for the addition of an extra chair in its midst. The warrior sat down. The king's Guardian then took his place among the Elders.  
  
A venerable Sage wearing robes of royal purple spoke, his voice deep and commanding. "Karrah." The warrior bristled, but kept a stoic expression. "The Council has been notified of your misconduct concerning the son of an Elder's Partner. You have violated the boundaries of both Realms, entered the Seat of a human's Ba unbidden and grossly overstepped the rights of your position. Your actions merit punishment."  
  
"If you would allow me to explain," growled the warrior.  
  
To the younger Magician's slight satisfaction, the Sage looked faintly annoyed at the disrespect shown by what was in his eyes a dishonoured warrior but deigned to answer him. "There is nothing to explain. There is no denying what has happened."  
  
"I am not trying to deny anything."  
  
"Then what is there left to explain?"  
  
"Many things. At the least, allow me to defend my honour, for I did nothing wrong." A few Elders raised their eyebrows but kept silent. Azrak leaned forward slightly and opened a private link with the leader of the Council.  
  
/Rahmah, allow the boy to tell his story. There is more to this matter than meets the eye./ The other Elder took a moment to contemplate on the Sage's advice while assessing the youth with a hard glance.  
  
"You may defend your honour." The warrior let out the breath he had unconsciously been holding. He looked into the face of each Elder, aware of the subtle weavings of a truth discernment spell. He had to be careful with his words; the spell was a trap, activated by dishonesty. Judging from the denseness of the magic, it was a powerful spell set to hair-trigger sensitivity. There was no hesitation in his speech. He simply lent a voice to the truth.  
  
"I am a warrior in training of the line of Azima and as such, it is my duty to patrol the wilds of Sahrae to keep these borders safe. I was hunting the fell creatures of the Shadow on the western border two days ago when I felt a powerful summon. I felt it was not a normal summon, for I had never encountered this brand of Magic before." He paused, recalling the strange burning sensation he had felt in his chest as he was following the trail of a Shadow Ghoul. It had been a fiery and desperate need, so strong that he had had only felt it one other time in his life. Mentally shaking his head, he returned to his narrative. "The summon was so strong that I could do nothing to resist it. I was transported to a hall. I found I could not move; I was encased in stone. I do not know how long I suffered under this enchantment; my senses were robbed. It was only when the child was being attacked by the Shadow Ghoul that I was freed from the stone. I saw the attack and I did what honour required of me. I saved him. The child was hurt, so I took him to Di'An Keto, the master healer of my village."  
  
"How did you end up in the boy's Seat of the Ba?" interrupted an elder.  
  
"I do not know how to explain it. The same Magic that summoned me directed me there."  
  
"But that is impossible. None but the boy's Guardian should have natural access to his Seat." The elder's words dropped into the heavy silence. The implications of those words rippled through the Council, forcing them to confront suddenly unavoidable questions. The edgings of fear prodded them back to safer, well-trodden paths of thought. It was not possible that this humble Karrah could be the destined Guardian of the king's son, given his lineage and background. The Magician was a mere boy, a brazen hunter without the necessary wisdom and skills needed to become a Guardian. It simply could not be. Should not be. It was a mistake. Before any of the Elders could voice their thoughts aloud, Rahmah spoke.  
  
"You have been given your chance to defend your honour. The Council now requires time to discuss your situation." The leader of the Council raised a hand and muttered a spell. Glowing blue lines traced a humming cage around Sihrr, shutting him in like a trapped animal. The Magician's anger flared in response. He held his hand in front of him, palm facing down to summon his warrior's staff. The degradation was too much.  
  
"The Containment spell is unnecessary." Azrak waved a hand and the cage disappeared, much to the warrior's shock. His hand remained poised to wield the elegant traditional weapon of the Azima, the fingers closed on thin air. The other Elders glanced at the king's Guardian in surprise bordering on anger. He met their gaze coolly, meeting the leader's eyes last. The air crackled with tension as the two fought a battle of wills.  
  
"We do not have time for this. Very well," Rahmah conceded, his eyes never leaving the set face of the other Elder. "You shall take responsibility for any action he should commit in our absence."  
  
"He will do nothing."  
  
Rahmah flicked a look of doubtful disdain at the Magician before dismissing the subject. He looked about the Council, holding each of the eleven gazes briefly. The group of Elders settled back into their chairs and closed their eyes, chanting softly in unison. The spell whirled around the eleven figures, creating a private astral plane in which their minds could communicate freely without disturbance and need for secrecy. The young Magician suddenly found himself in an empty amphitheatre. The bodies of the elders remained in their chairs, but he could only faintly detect their presences.  
  
With the interrogative pressure of the Elders gone, Sihrr breathed a sigh of relief and felt part of the tension bleed from him. He glanced down at his outstretched hand then at the serene face of the king's Guardian. Why had the Elder stood up in his defence? Given his supposed crime and position, the elders had every right- according to law anyway, he reflected bitterly- to Contain him. Yet, the Guardian had argued for this small dignity. Not that the Containment was necessary; he could feel the vibrantly strong magical energies surrounding the crystal structure and guessed that any that left or entered it against the Council's will would find themselves staff-deep in a trap. But it was the courtesy of the gesture, shown to one that the other most likely viewed as his inferior that touched the warrior.  
  
The gratitude was tempered by an instinctive suspicion. His emotions led him down a familiar path of thought. The Ahsan rarely treated any other clan as their equal. Even their name was indication of their snobbery. Better indeed, the young Magician mentally snorted. In his mind, no clan was better or inferior to each other. Each fulfilled a destiny. Just because the destiny of the Ahsan was to become Guardians did not make them superior in any way. And perhaps, this was not an exclusive right. The elder had said it himself: he should not have had natural access to the Seat of the boy's Ka, yet he had had no trouble finding it. The Ancient Magic that protected each individual's Seat was vastly more powerful than the ability of all save the strongest mages to break. So, the Azima warrior reflected, does that make me.? His thoughts were interrupted as he detected the return of the elders. Fleetingly, he wondered whether the brevity was good or bad.  
  
The leader's keen purple eyes opened to catch the warrior. "The Council has decided.  
  
"You are innocent of forcing entrance to the seat of the boy prince's Ka. However, it cannot be overlooked that you have trespassed. Your act merits punishment, though that which the Council has decided on is of little relevance for one of your position. You punishment is thus: that you swear upon your honour to never go near the boy again."  
  
The Magician turned pale. He felt the golden connection quiver deep inside and drew strength from it.  
  
"Do you accept your punishment?" The leader's commanding voice cut through the Azima's thoughts. His sapphire eyes focused on the Council as he steeled himself.  
  
"No."  
  
"What?" an elder frowned in response.  
  
"No."  
  
He moved from face to face, reading the lines of shock, frustration, anger and scorn. Reaching Azrak's place in the Council, he was surprised to see that the Guardian was regarding him with an unreadable expression.  
  
"Think carefully before you choose your destiny."  
  
He turned away from the Guardian, turning inwards. What Rahmah said was true. It was a trifle punishment for an Azima warrior. As a guardian of the lands of his people, his path would never take him to the other Realm, to the side of the child he had saved. That was not the destiny appointed to him by virtue of birth. They merely wanted his word and his honour that this possibility would become forever closed to him. And it was such an easy thing to promise. The words came easily.  
  
"I do not accept this punishment." I cannot, he admitted to himself. He had been ready to accept punishment through fire and ice, even through the deep forbidden recesses of the Realm of Shadows though it would have condemned him through hell and possibly death. But the punishment they asked was certain death. It would be the death of a part of himself that he had found in the child. The following silence was thick with disbelief at his decision.  
  
"We cannot allow your trespass to go unpunished yet you refuse your punishment." Rahamh's icy voice sliced into the stillness. "Very well. I see that perhaps you may need more time to consider the weight of your decision. You will be detained indefinitely in the holding cells until you are ready to accept."  
  
Two armour-clad guards appeared on either side of the youth. One glare from the warrior told the guards not to touch the prisoner, though he was forced to surrender his staff. He called forth the weapon reluctantly, his grip knuckle-white on the gleaming handle even as he handed it over. The Azima held his head high, his eyes two chips of blue flame as he glared at the Council before the guards transported him away.  
  
An elder spoke. "I hope this does not grow into a problem. The Karrah."  
  
"It is taken care of at the moment," Rahmah answered.  
  
"Even so, what has happened cannot be changed and we cannot ignore it."  
  
"None of us take this lightly." Rahmah stood, signalling an end to the discussion. One by one, the other elders stood to take their leave, nodding to each other before disappearing from the amphitheatre.  
  
Rahmah turned to the only other remaining elder. The king's Guardian was still seated, hands folded in his lap.  
  
"Speak your mind."  
  
"If he is destined, we cannot stop him."  
  
"The fact is that he is a Karrah. He is not destined," Rahmah replied coldly.  
  
"How can you be sure?"  
  
"He is a Karrah, of low blood. That is all the certainty I need." With that, the leader of the Council stood and left abruptly, leaving the pharaoh's Guardian alone in the vast crystal amphitheatre." 


	7. Loss

Chapter Six: Punishment  
  
Two tall forms materialized on the outskirts of a settlement nestled in the crevices of a giant pinnacle of rock carved from long years of wind and snow. Graceful and fluted buildings built of the bones of the mountain rose before the two figures. The Sage strode towards them, keeping his eyes fixed forward and trusting the other to follow. The warrior did so, falling into stride behind the elder with steps that were silent and cat-like, an unconscious reflex from his many days patrolling the far expanse of wild territory. He wore an expression that mirrored the hardness of the rock around him, masking the wild flow of his thoughts. His mind was a frenzy of activity that whirled around one subject: the child.  
  
He could almost hear the child's whisper again. Sihrr. The boy had known his name. How? He had not given it nor had it been uttered in the unconscious child's presence. While the logical part of his mind twisted infinite possibilities, something tugged at his chest close to his heart. Turning his senses inward, he almost stumbled at what he saw but caught himself quickly by virtue of well-honed reflexes. He glanced at the elder to see if he had noticed the break in the smooth gait. He had not. Feeling a small measure of relief, Sihrr gazed inward again. He saw a golden thread, stretched tautly as if connected to something. It had no beginning or end, a vibrant loop of tangible energy that danced around his inner self, yet Sihrr felt it was connected to a familiar presence.  
  
The child, it had to be him.  
  
It was the same aura of innocence and magic that he had sensed from the moment he had rescued the child. The golden cord hummed and shimmered, tempting him to reach out and let it pull him to its other end. Again, there was a faint echo of the child's voice calling him by name. Sihrr. The young magician's hand was a breath away from the thread when he felt the presence of many elders suddenly manifest in the heart of the city where they were heading towards. With great reluctance, the warrior returned to his surface self. There were more pressing matters that needed to be addressed first.  
  
The two purple-clad figures arrived at their destination, a tall crystal formation that rose to meet the violet ash sky in sharp spires of lustrous black. Careful work with magic had cultured the crystal for architectural purposes, though its creation and evolution had mainly been left to the natural forces of wind and water. Like the powers that had shaped it, the structure held a rich raw power of Elemental Magic. The only overtly visible work was intricately designed windows chipped from the crystal that let light filter inside through shimmering panes of magic sustained by charms carved directly into the structure. Doors were unnecessary.  
  
The Sage and the warrior approached a mural inlaid with flecks of brilliant jewels arranged to form an entire wall of runes. Azrak touched it, murmuring the required spell to allow the both of them access to teleport through the crystal palace's magical barrier.  
  
Sihrr suddenly found himself in a small amphitheatre with a high ceiling of translucent crystal. The weak twilight glow of the indigo sky lit the floor of a slightly raised stage with a hard polish of black rock. Seated on chairs of the same hard stone, arranged concentrically about the circular stage was the Council of Elders. The various Sages had their gazes fixed on the center of the circle and were engaged in telepathic discussion. A heated one at that, Sihrr noted with growing discomfort, judging from the flinty glare of several Elders. Rarely did the council convene outside of annual gatherings to discuss business, and only under special or dire circumstances that necessitated quick and sure wisdom. The imposing group turned ten sets of piercing purple eyes at him and Sihrr felt naked under the intense scrutiny. He wrapped his thoughts away carefully and shuttered his eyes to his mind. Refusing to let the Elders see his anxiety, he held his head high. Let them mistaken it for insolence; a true warrior deferred to no one, especially to those he did not respect. Azrak motioned and the circle shifted subtly to allow for the addition of an extra chair in its midst. The warrior sat down. The king's Guardian then took his place among the Elders.  
  
A venerable Sage wearing robes of royal purple spoke, his voice deep and commanding. "Karrah." The warrior bristled, but kept a stoic expression. "The Council has been notified of your misconduct concerning the son of an Elder's Partner. You have violated the boundaries of both Realms, entered the Seat of a human's Ba unbidden and grossly overstepped the rights of your position. Your actions merit punishment."  
  
"If you would allow me to explain," growled the warrior.  
  
To the younger Magician's slight satisfaction, the Sage looked faintly annoyed at the disrespect shown by what was in his eyes a dishonoured warrior but deigned to answer him. "There is nothing to explain. There is no denying what has happened."  
  
"I am not trying to deny anything."  
  
"Then what is there left to explain?"  
  
"Many things. At the least, allow me to defend my honour, for I did nothing wrong." A few Elders raised their eyebrows but kept silent. Azrak leaned forward slightly and opened a private link with the leader of the Council.  
  
/Rahmah, allow the boy to tell his story. There is more to this matter than meets the eye./ The other Elder took a moment to contemplate on the Sage's advice while assessing the youth with a hard glance.  
  
"You may defend your honour." The warrior let out the breath he had unconsciously been holding. He looked into the face of each Elder, aware of the subtle weavings of a truth discernment spell. He had to be careful with his words; the spell was a trap, activated by dishonesty. Judging from the denseness of the magic, it was a powerful spell set to hair-trigger sensitivity. There was no hesitation in his speech. He simply lent a voice to the truth.  
  
"I am a warrior in training of the line of Azima and as such, it is my duty to patrol the wilds of Sahrae to keep these borders safe. I was hunting the fell creatures of the Shadow on the western border two days ago when I felt a powerful summon. I felt it was not a normal summon, for I had never encountered this brand of Magic before." He paused, recalling the strange burning sensation he had felt in his chest as he was following the trail of a Shadow Ghoul. It had been a fiery and desperate need, so strong that he had had only felt it one other time in his life. Mentally shaking his head, he returned to his narrative. "The summon was so strong that I could do nothing to resist it. I was transported to a hall. I found I could not move; I was encased in stone. I do not know how long I suffered under this enchantment; my senses were robbed. It was only when the child was being attacked by the Shadow Ghoul that I was freed from the stone. I saw the attack and I did what honour required of me. I saved him. The child was hurt, so I took him to Di'An Keto, the master healer of my village."  
  
"How did you end up in the boy's Seat of the Ba?" interrupted an elder.  
  
"I do not know how to explain it. The same Magic that summoned me directed me there."  
  
"But that is impossible. None but the boy's Guardian should have natural access to his Seat." The elder's words dropped into the heavy silence. The implications of those words rippled through the Council, forcing them to confront suddenly unavoidable questions. The edgings of fear prodded them back to safer, well-trodden paths of thought. It was not possible that this humble Karrah could be the destined Guardian of the king's son, given his lineage and background. The Magician was a mere boy, a brazen hunter without the necessary wisdom and skills needed to become a Guardian. It simply could not be. Should not be. It was a mistake. Before any of the Elders could voice their thoughts aloud, Rahmah spoke.  
  
"You have been given your chance to defend your honour. The Council now requires time to discuss your situation." The leader of the Council raised a hand and muttered a spell. Glowing blue lines traced a humming cage around Sihrr, shutting him in like a trapped animal. The Magician's anger flared in response. He held his hand in front of him, palm facing down to summon his warrior's staff. The degradation was too much.  
  
"The Containment spell is unnecessary." Azrak waved a hand and the cage disappeared, much to the warrior's shock. His hand remained poised to wield the elegant traditional weapon of the Azima, the fingers closed on thin air. The other Elders glanced at the king's Guardian in surprise bordering on anger. He met their gaze coolly, meeting the leader's eyes last. The air crackled with tension as the two fought a battle of wills.  
  
"We do not have time for this. Very well," Rahmah conceded, his eyes never leaving the set face of the other Elder. "You shall take responsibility for any action he should commit in our absence."  
  
"He will do nothing."  
  
Rahmah flicked a look of doubtful disdain at the Magician before dismissing the subject. He looked about the Council, holding each of the eleven gazes briefly. The group of Elders settled back into their chairs and closed their eyes, chanting softly in unison. The spell whirled around the eleven figures, creating a private astral plane in which their minds could communicate freely without disturbance and need for secrecy. The young Magician suddenly found himself in an empty amphitheatre. The bodies of the elders remained in their chairs, but he could only faintly detect their presences.  
  
With the interrogative pressure of the Elders gone, Sihrr breathed a sigh of relief and felt part of the tension bleed from him. He glanced down at his outstretched hand then at the serene face of the king's Guardian. Why had the Elder stood up in his defence? Given his supposed crime and position, the elders had every right- according to law anyway, he reflected bitterly- to Contain him. Yet, the Guardian had argued for this small dignity. Not that the Containment was necessary; he could feel the vibrantly strong magical energies surrounding the crystal structure and guessed that any that left or entered it against the Council's will would find themselves staff-deep in a trap. But it was the courtesy of the gesture, shown to one that the other most likely viewed as his inferior that touched the warrior.  
  
The gratitude was tempered by an instinctive suspicion. His emotions led him down a familiar path of thought. The Ahsan rarely treated any other clan as their equal. Even their name was indication of their snobbery. Better indeed, the young Magician mentally snorted. In his mind, no clan was better or inferior to each other. Each fulfilled a destiny. Just because the destiny of the Ahsan was to become Guardians did not make them superior in any way. And perhaps, this was not an exclusive right. The elder had said it himself: he should not have had natural access to the Seat of the boy's Ka, yet he had had no trouble finding it. The Ancient Magic that protected each individual's Seat was vastly more powerful than the ability of all save the strongest mages to break. So, the Azima warrior reflected, does that make me.? His thoughts were interrupted as he detected the return of the elders. Fleetingly, he wondered whether the brevity was good or bad.  
  
The leader's keen purple eyes opened to catch the warrior. "The Council has decided.  
  
"You are innocent of forcing entrance to the seat of the boy prince's Ka. However, it cannot be overlooked that you have trespassed. Your act merits punishment, though that which the Council has decided on is of little relevance for one of your position. You punishment is thus: that you swear upon your honour to never go near the boy again."  
  
The Magician turned pale. He felt the golden connection quiver deep inside and drew strength from it.  
  
"Do you accept your punishment?" The leader's commanding voice cut through the Azima's thoughts. His sapphire eyes focused on the Council as he steeled himself.  
  
"No."  
  
"What?" an elder frowned in response.  
  
"No."  
  
He moved from face to face, reading the lines of shock, frustration, anger and scorn. Reaching Azrak's place in the Council, he saw that the Guardian was regarding him with an unreadable expression. Something flashed in the Elder's eyes - pity, sympathy? - but it was gone too fast to identify  
  
"Think carefully before you choose your destiny."  
  
He turned away from the Guardian, turning inwards. What Rahmah said was true. It was a trifle punishment for an Azima warrior. As a guardian of the lands of his people, his path would never take him to the other Realm, to the side of the child he had saved. That was not the destiny appointed to him by virtue of birth. They merely wanted his word and his honour that this possibility would become forever closed to him. And to utter those binding words was such an easy thing.  
  
The words came easily.  
  
"I do not accept this punishment."  
  
I cannot, he admitted to himself. He had been ready to accept punishment through fire and ice, even through the deep forbidden recesses of the Realm of Shadows though it would have condemned him through hell and possibly death. But the punishment they asked was certain death. It would be the death of a part of himself that he had found in the child. The following silence was thick with disbelief at his decision.  
  
"We cannot allow your trespass to go unpunished yet you refuse your punishment." Rahamh's icy voice sliced into the stillness. "Very well. I see that perhaps you may need more time to consider the weight of your decision. You will be detained indefinitely in the holding cells until you are ready to accept."  
  
Two armour-clad guards appeared on either side of the youth. One glare from the warrior told the guards not to touch the prisoner, though he was forced to surrender his staff. He called forth the weapon reluctantly, his grip knuckle-white on the gleaming handle even as he handed it over. The weapon cried out to him but he ignored it, keeping his face flat. The Azima held his head high, his eyes two chips of blue flame as he glared at the Council before the guards transported him away.  
  
An Elder spoke. "I hope this does not grow into a problem. The Karrah."  
  
"It is been taken care of at the moment," Rahmah answered.  
  
"Even so, what has happened cannot be changed and we cannot ignore it."  
  
"None of us take this lightly." Rahmah stood, signalling an end to the discussion. One by one, the other Elders stood to take their leave, nodding to each other before disappearing from the amphitheatre.  
  
Rahmah turned to the only other remaining Elder. The king's Guardian was still seated, hands folded in his lap. He scrutinized the figure and felt the favour returned, though the strange blue eyes of the other Guardian stared into space.  
  
"Speak your mind."  
  
"If he is destined, we cannot stop him."  
  
"The fact is that he is a Karrah. He is not destined," Rahmah replied coldly.  
  
"How can you be sure?"  
  
"He is a Karrah, of low blood. That is all the certainty I need." With that, the leader of the Council stood and left abruptly, leaving the king's Guardian alone in the vast crystal amphitheatre. 


	8. Beginnings

Konnichiwa, minna-san. My first post is actually on schedule! However, don't get used to it because I know that, no matter how much I promise myself I will meet deadlines, they inevitably get pushed back by less important things such as life and the process of living it.  
  
Everyone, meet Nicole Silverwolf. (holds up sign saying "wave") She is  
  
- author of many amazing fanfics (including May It Be; read this, people)  
  
- fellow student struggling under the evils of post-secondary education  
  
- my new pre-reader!  
  
If this chapter is actually good, it is because she made many helpful suggestions. =) Xie xie.  
  
I have taken artistic liberty in the fic. For example, as Nicole pointed out to me, I explain Yami's name as meaning 'little dark'. I know it doesn't translate like that, so don't spear me for it (runs away from Lord of the Flies). The meaning is only in a connotative sense.  
  
Personal notes and little tidbits on foreign words and their meanings after the story. Don't want you to fall asleep before you actually get to chapter six!  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter Seven: Beginnings  
  
The grand hall of the palace, flooded with the cool grey light of early morning. The hall was filled with people gathered in loose lines, waiting to have their cases heard by the Living Horus. They brought with them the smells and colours of ordinary life. Sand mixed with jet-black plaits, simple linen clothes were brown with many washings and faces were grey with dirt, but the hall itself remained immaculate. Though the crowd was large, they made little noise. Only a quiet murmur rippled through the hall. The only clear voice to be heard was the deep baritone words of the pharaoh.  
  
The pharaoh was seated at the front of the hall, patiently listening to the problems of the people and proffering required judgement. As Ra climbed to its peak, the masses of people did not thin but continued to snake in disorganised lines through the hall.  
  
The pharaoh rose from his golden throne. Immediately, the entire hall fell on to their knees. The Son of Horus and Amun-Ra surveyed them for a regal moment, before smiling kindly and bidding them to rise. They did so with bowed heads of respect as the divine king was escorted from the hall by a phalanx of guards, leaving a judge with clear grey eyes in his place.  
  
Amenhotep dismissed his train with a regal sweep of his ceremonial ankh as they approached his quarters. Two took up position outside the door to his rooms. The pharaoh entered, making his way to a dressing table. Carefully, he removed the heavy double crown and golden ceremonial adornments and placed them beside the crook and ankh. He sighed, glad to be rid of the burdens. The air rippled beside him and a moment later, Azrak appeared.  
  
"Ahalan, Amenhotep." The pharaoh greeted the Guardian with a brief smile.  
  
"Ahalan, Azrak." His smile faded. "Have you punished the Magician yet?"  
  
"The Council of Elders had a meeting to judge his actions. He has been punished but." The Sage frowned. It would be difficult for his partner to accept that what the Council had done was wrong.  
  
"But what?"  
  
"The Council judged him to be innocent of any wrong-doing, yet they condemned him to imprisonment."  
  
"There must be some mistake in the judgement, but he deserves the imprisonment. He trespassed into my son's Soul Room," Amenhotep replied coldly.  
  
"You do not understand. Sihrr has done nothing wrong." He explained what the Magician had testified. Amenhotep listened with crossed arms.  
  
"There is no denying he was in Yu-gi-oh's Soul Room. But I believe he had a right to be there."  
  
The pharaoh bristled. "Azrak, don't tell me you seriously believe he is my son's Guardian."  
  
"It is the only explanation. He does not have the skill to force entry into a Soul Room. He saved your son. He never told Yu-gi-oh his name, yet your son knew it."  
  
"I don't care about the details. Yami was hurt, he was in the Soul Room; all evidence points to his guilt."  
  
"Do not let your emotions cloud your judgement, Amenhotep. Use the Eye of Horus; see the truth."  
  
"Divine One?" The pharaoh and his Guardian turned to face the guard. "The young prince seeks your audience."  
  
[We will continue this conversation later.] Azrak disappeared.  
  
"Let him in." The guard bowed and returned with a grave little boy. Father and son waited in silence for the guard to leave. When the servant did so, the pharaoh relaxed and allowed himself to smile.  
  
"SabaH el-kheir, little one," he said, scooping up his son. Yami grinned and hugged the pharaoh around the neck.  
  
"Are you feeling better, Yami?" The boy nodded then frowned. Amenhotep noticed.  
  
"What bothers you?" Yami hesitated, a look of childish uncertainty crossing his face.  
  
"You can tell me anything," Amenhotep encouraged gently. Quickly, he checked on his wife through their telepathic link. He found her still sleeping and decided not to disturb her. No need to worry her when she was still so exhausted. He turned his attention back to his son.  
  
"Ab, something happened to me last night, didn't it? I don't remember most of it but I remember something strange." His forehead scrunched up slightly. "Most of all, I remember blue eyes. No one I know has blue eyes, ab. Who was that?"  
  
"I think you must have had a very strange dream yesterday, Yami."  
  
"But it seemed so real."  
  
"Sometimes, dreams can seem very real. But no matter how real they seem, they are not." The child contemplated for a moment.  
  
"I woke up this morning and I felt something strange." Amenhotep's red eyes closely studied his son's face. "I wanted to remember a name. The eyes had a name, but I forgot. I kept trying to remember but I couldn't. And then, I felt something else. This," -he struggled for a word- "pulling inside." His childish crimson eyes sobered in a moment of maturity. "It felt safe and it felt right. But then, it stopped. I know it has something to do with the thing I can't remember but I need to find it. I need to remember." Yami took a deep breath, held it, then let it out slowly, trying not to feel upset. He felt the arms under him shift into a more comfortable position.  
  
"Shh, little dark. It's alright," Amenhotep soothed. He continued murmuring comforting words. He could feel the tense anxiety of the child's emotions, as if they were a frayed rope stretched too tightly. Yet, he could also detect an underlying current of steel. Reaching out, he projected feelings of calm and reassurance. To his surprise, he felt his attempts rebuffed by a determination that caught him off-guard. Yami's untrained will was almost strong enough to reject his magic. Amenhotep let a bit more power flow into his magic to increase its influence. He was rewarded when the crimson eyes began to soften then close. Soon, Yami was asleep in his arms.  
  
Amenhotep laid him carefully on a cushioned reclining couch. He couldn't help but feel impressed by his son's strength. Few had the ability to resist his magic. When old enough to train, Yami would be one of the most promising apprentices in the manipulation of Shadow Power. But not until then, he thought, gazing tenderly at the sleeping child. Yami moved in his sleep and cried softly.  
  
"Sihrr. don't go."  
  
The Egyptian froze. That name. There was no possible way that his son should have remembered anything of his encounter with the Realm. Yet, he had clearly spoken the Shadow being's name. It would be dangerous to let him recall any more. He made his decision. He placed a hand on his son's forehead to channel the powerful magic needed for a Memory Enchantment.  
  
[Wait.] Amenhotep felt a hand on top of his own. [Don't do this.]  
  
[How can I not?] He turned to face his Guardian. [I need to protect my son. The memories are too dangerous.]  
  
[Amenhotep, the memories have no physical power over the boy. They are not the danger.]  
  
[Everything is dangerous.]  
  
[Something is dangerous only when it has the power of your fear over you.] When the pharaoh did not reply, Azrak continued.  
  
[Why do you refuse to see the truth? What are you afraid of?]  
  
The pharaoh was about to reply in anger when he caught the Guardian's concerned look. He hesitated. His anger slowly ebbed away, replaced by feelings of fear and doubt that rolled over him. What if he was wrong? But he couldn't be wrong; he had faced the dangers of the Realm and knew its dark power. He was afraid for his son. But, he asked, am I afraid for myself as well? Yes, yes I'm very afraid. The Realm is a danger for all those whose lives are touched by its Shadow. He wanted to shelter his son from the Darkness. But he knew he couldn't. He hadn't. The Realm had almost claimed him and he had not been there to save his son. He had failed in his duty as a father. Instead, the Magician of Darkness had saved him. It hurt to admit it. As much as he tried to deny it, he couldn't. He was not strong enough to protect his child.  
  
[I am afraid. of the Dark.] The Guardian put an arm around his partner's tired shoulders.  
  
[You are a child of the Dark, but you are safe as long as I am your Guardian. I am bound to protect you. Little Yu-gi-oh has the same destiny. He too needs a Guardian.]  
  
[But so soon?]  
  
The Sage nodded. [He will need guidance.]  
  
Amenhotep sighed in resignation. He had wanted to protect his son for as long as possible. Now, he only hoped that Yami's path would not be a difficult one. [How do we convince the Council to release Sihrr then?]  
  
The Sage smiled grimly.  
  
[We don't.]  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Sihrr felt as if his mind had been yanked up from calm settled depths to a turbulent and icy surface. Sitting up, he held his head and groaned. Living without magic was exhausting. He felt even emptier when he felt the lifelessness of the severed connection between him and the child. Damn curse. Damn Council. Damn life. His head throbbed while his heart slowly caved in from the hollowness.  
  
Then, he felt it. A subtle twist of magic penetrated the shimmering walls of the Hexagram Curse. Two tall forms appeared. He leapt to his feet, ignoring the dizziness that assaulted him, dimly aware that he was clutching something in his hand. It was the Pharaoh and the Guardian.  
  
"We don't have much time." The Guardian stepped forward, azure eyes intensely solemn. He extended a hand to the Magician, who regarded it wearily. "The boy you rescued; are you willing to give up everything for him?"  
  
His heart leapt with irrational joy but was instantly crushed by reason and logic. They had already taken everything away from him, including the child. The emptiness in his heart reminded him they were no longer connected. His honour as a warrior was tarnished; he would be an outcast in his society. What was he supposed to say?  
  
"Why?" he asked.  
  
"Because you are his chosen Guardian."  
  
Sihrr felt as if he had been slapped in the face. "If I am his Guardian, then why am I treated like some wrong-doer?!"  
  
The Sage shook his head. "That was the doing of the Council. They do not understand the mistake of their actions. You are the child's Guardian."  
  
"What proof do you have of that?"  
  
"I have no proof but what you feel in your heart. And what he feels in his."  
  
"I can't feel anything," he replied bitterly, "except emptiness." The Sage looked at him with an expression of pity. Impaled by the Sage's sympathy, the magician felt vulnerable and weak. He hated that others could see him like this.  
  
"It is the Hexagram curse. It is blocking your connection as well as your magic." Sihrr looked at the elder magician. The expression spoke of past hurt and pain, fear of trusting again, wariness at being betrayed by others and a small glimmer of hope struggling to survive under it all. The various emotions tore him in different directions.  
  
"Please, there is not much time. You must decide."  
  
He couldn't.  
  
Amenhotep saw the Magician hesitate. He stepped forward. "Think of your partner. My son. His name," he paused, almost reluctant to give his son's name; "is Yami. It means 'little dark'. "  
  
"Yami." He whispered the name. He could hear the little boy call his name. Sihrr made his decision.  
  
"What must I give up?"  
  
"You will most likely be an outcast, once the Council discovers that you have escaped and gone against their judgement," the Sage stated frankly.  
  
So that was the price.  
  
"It doesn't matter."  
  
"Are you sure? What of your clan and your family?"  
  
"I have no family. I will always be a warrior of the Azima, but I want to be Yami's Guardian." He said it quietly, but there was blue fire behind the words. The pharaoh and his Guardian smiled.  
  
"Come then." The Sage took the Magician's free hand and concentrated. Chanting softly, he disentangled the bindings of the Curse from the Magician. There was a soft sigh of relief as Sihrr felt magic flood through him again. Relaxing, he let the Sage's magic carry them away from the Realm and into the mortal world. He whispered a silent good-bye to the barren wilds of Sahrae, the little village of the Azima he had grown up in and the warrior's life that he had known.  
  
He opened his eyes, blinking from the unaccustomed brightness of sunlight. He was in a stately room with the pharaoh and the Sage. Sihrr moved his limbs experimentally and found that being in the mortal world was no different. His magic was intact. He became aware that he was still holding the card that the Trap Master had given him but he also noticed something else. The golden cord! It hummed and danced again with life, as if in joy.  
  
The pharaoh moved to a couch and picked up something that was obscured from the Magician's view. He spoke softly, and Sihrr could hear a sleepy response. His nerves quivered and his stomach flip-flopped as the Egyptian slowly turned around.  
  
"Yami, I believe the person you were looking for has found you."  
  
Crimson eyes met sapphire. The little prince jumped down from his father's arms and hugged the Magician around the knees.  
  
"Sihrr!" The Magician crouched down and returned the embrace, feeling a surge of magic flow between them. His partner. It was the most exhilarating happiness he had ever felt. He was so wrapped up in emotion that he failed to notice the dark Eye of Horus that glowed on his forehead. He was only aware of the small boy in his arms.  
  
Yami buried his face in the long purple hair. This time, he had won.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Vocabulary and Explanations  
  
"Ab" = father  
  
"Ahalan" = hello  
  
"SabaH el-kheir" = good morning  
  
I use a mixture of Egyptian and Arabic for this fic. I would use pure Egyptian, but it's freaking hard to find a translator site for all the words I need! Just a few interesting morsels:  
  
- Azrak's name means blue, for the colour of his eyes (I'm a HUGE fan of eye colour, if you haven't noticed!)  
  
- Sihrr's name remains a mystery =). Take a guess! Anyone who can guess right will get. umm. (rummages around pockets) a Halloween kit-kat bar.  
  
- Sihrr's clan name, Azima, actually has no relevance. I was looking down the long list of Arabic words but there wasn't anything significant, so I just chose a really cool sounding word. Or else (I'm not sure which) I just made up the word.  
  
- Karrah: that, again, probably doesn't mean anything, but in my story, it means commoner (in a bad sense)  
  
  
  
Personal Notes  
  
Maria: thank you so much for reviewing! =) Whenever I got stuck writing, I would go and read your comment. Thanks for the inspiration and encouragement.  
  
Nicole: hehehe. mid-terms are over, so you have no excuse for not writing! If I'm writing (ouch! Don't crack so hard, woman!) then you have to write too! 


	9. Apprentice

Well, as you might have noticed, I didn't update on Friday. Last time I updated, I didn't get the usual response, which I took to mean that everyone was too busy. Don't get me wrong, I write for the pure joy of writing, but my personal goal for this story is to get 100 reviews (looks up at very high figure). A little ambitious, I know, but something to aim for. =)  
  
Also, I had a really hard time writing this chapter. I think I went through at least 2 false starts before it would begin properly and a couple more before I could end it. Now it's almost 3:30 in the morning and I am FINALLY content with how it turned out. Not happy mind you; it's still missing something. If you know what it is or you have suggestions, press the little grew button that says review at the bottom of the story!  
  
Anyway, just a bit of vocab before moving on and personal notes at the end.  
  
Oum = mother SSahibah = mistress Benu = heron Mawllah = master Aaibad = servant  
  
One last thing that I thought was pretty cool =). I found this really cool site on Egyptian names (courtesy of Maria, aka Blue- read her new story, people! Cries of an Ancient Heart) and it turns out that Nekti's name bears close resemblance to the name Nakhti, which means "strong". Very cool, considering I just made up her name. ^^  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter Eight  
  
The Magician and the little prince sat side by side on the wooden couch in the pharaoh's quarters as they waited for Nekti to arrive. Both were quiet, absently watching the pharaoh and the Sage converse quietly on the opposite side of the room. Yami was swinging his shorter legs, resting comfortably against the worn outer robe of his Guardian. Sihrr sat with a rod-straight back, blue eyes lost in thought and hands folded in his lap as he waited. His knuckles grew increasingly white as the moments drifted by. Several large muscles cramped from prolonged tension. The warrior forced them to relax.  
  
[Don't worry, Sihrr.]  
  
The Magician reigned in his shock as he heard Yami's voice in his mind. He had completely forgotten that their connection allowed both sides to mutually communicate emotions and thoughts. With mental agility, he raised barriers on his anxiety and sent a pulse of reassurance through their bond. Yami responded by looking up to his Guardian with an encouraging grin.  
  
The rustling of cloth drew their attention to the gilded doors. They admitted a guard escorting a small Egyptian woman whose delicate features were shadowed with worry. The pharaoh and his Guardian broke their discussion. Sihrr's anxiety jumped to new heights as Nekti's gaze immediately met his. It was a slightly puzzled, questioning look, one mixed with a hint of recognition.  
  
"Golden One, the queen has arrived." Task accomplished, the guard retreated from the room. The pharaoh made a move to speak, but it was Yami that broke the silence.  
  
"Oum, there is someone I want you to meet." With the serious formality of one many times his age, the little boy took the Magician's hand and led him to his mother.  
  
"Oum, this is my Guardian. His name is Sihrr and he is a Magician. Sihrr, this is my mother." The Magician sunk to one knee in the Azima display of respect, keeping his eyes fixed on the queen's sandals.  
  
[Sihrr, you don't have to do that.] Yami's voice admonished him.  
  
[He is right. It is entirely unnecessary, Magician. Arise.]  
  
The Guardian remained in his position, almost afraid to move. Plaited white folds lowered into his view as the queen of Egypt knelt down to take his rough hands and raise him to his feet. The pharaoh stood beside his wife as she smiled gently at the nervous Shadow warrior.  
  
"Sihrr, you are Yami's Guardian. That means that you are part of the family." She picked up the little prince so that he was eye-level with her. "Isn't that right, my little dark?" Yami nodded.  
  
Nekti's words echoed in Sihrr's mind. He was part of the family. His heart felt as if it would burst from the immense joy that swelled within. A shadow of memory dimmed his happiness momentarily as he remembered. No, the past was behind him. He pushed the pain aside.  
  
"SSahibah," the Magician managed to reply in a voice that sounded surprisingly steady to his own ears. The queen met his eye with a slightly reproving look.  
  
"None of that, Sihrr. Call me Nekti."  
  
The Magician bowed low so as to conceal the wetness collecting in his eyes.  
  
  
  
  
  
Sihrr held Yami in his arms as they navigated through the enormous palace. They were being led by a Hebrew servant woman with a sleeping infant strapped to her back. Nekti had explained with an apologetic smile that she and her husband had needed to take care of an urgent matter so they could not see Sihrr settled into his new quarters. She had wanted to thank him for saving her son but Sihrr had already seen the gratitude in her violet eyes. Their depths had told him all she had needed to say.  
  
The cavernous hallway was sparsely peopled. Servant women walked in large groups murmuring quiet gossip. Several stopped to greet the Hebrew woman, curious glances lingering on the tall purple-haired stranger. They hurriedly looked away when they were met with the lapis lazuli eyes.  
  
Sihrr brushed off the curious attention, focusing on his partner. Sitting in the crook of one arm with a small hand flung over the Magician's neck, the little prince was keeping his Guardian's ear busy as only a three-year- old can by pointing out anything that caught his eye and explaining the smallest details in a tumble of words. Sihrr caught an amused smile from the Hebrew woman, Serrah, over Yami's head.  
  
"Those colourful drawings over there, see?" Depictions of slim brown- skinned people walked in neat rows across the walls among thick black symbols. Sihrr only had time to nod before Yami continued. "They are hieroglyphs - that's how we write- and they tell stories about how the Land of the Nile was before we were born, before even ab was born." He paused to take a breath. "Those hieroglyphs there are about a group of people that came to Egypt a long time ago, from a far-off place in the desert somewhere. A big family of brothers came a long time ago and asked the pharaoh if they could stay." Serrah's steps faltered slightly. The little boy was too absorbed in his story to notice the Magician's gaze flicker briefly to the servant woman.  
  
"That sounds like a pretty interesting story."  
  
Yami nodded. "It is. It doesn't have an ending though, since this story is still being written- see the fresh jars of paint? I tried to draw in the rest of it, but ab wasn't too happy and he got the guards to wash it off." The boy scrunched up his face, then leaned close to the Magician's ear. "This story wants an ending."  
  
Sihrr chuckled. "Maybe you can tell me your ending sometime." Yami nodded, ruby eyes sparkling in the late afternoon sun. He continued pointing people and objects while the trio walked. Sihrr nodded occasionally, marvelling at how much energy the boy had. It had been a long time since he had been young and there had been few children in his village. None, however, had had a spirit to match that of his young partner. He felt the joy that Yami found in everything pulsate through him, their golden connection glowing vibrantly. The Azima Magician found the loneliness of his former life as a warrior, isolated in the wilds of the Realm, slipping away from him.  
  
The corridor opened into a large garden. Benu birds raised their heads on snake-like necks to briefly glance at the intruders. On quiet pools of water floated large white flowers, each petal flaming red in the fire of the sun that was disappearing behind the high brick walls that enclosed the courtyard. The light of the dying Ra jumped off the golden sloping sides of several large structures jutting loftily into the blue sky.  
  
"Yami, what are those?"  
  
The little boy followed his Guardian's eye. "Those are pyramids, Sihrr."  
  
"What are pyramids?"  
  
Yami cocked his head to the side, slightly perplexed that his Guardian was not familiar with the magnificent architecture and culture of Egypt. "They are houses for the bodies of the dead. Those that die are buried in the pyramids so they can climb up them all the way to the top to reach the stars. Then their Bas can find their way to the afterlife." Yami's rigid explanation reminded Sihrr of a recitation but it contained a note of awe and reverence.  
  
"Someday, I will build the biggest pyramid of all. It will be so tall and so big, it will fill the entire sky."  
  
Sihrr grinned as Yami stretched his arms as wide as possible, the small arms seeking to encompass the size of his imagination. "Someday, Yami. Someday." The Magician twisted his head around to catch a last glance of the enormous ancient tombs looming beyond the palace walls. He felt small and incongruous in the golden desert landscape. The Magician felt more at ease in the shadows of the palace as he followed Serrah under a limestone archway framing the entrance to a hall.  
  
"Sihrr, are there pyramids where you come from?"  
  
"No, Yami. There are very few buildings in my land."  
  
"What are there then?"  
  
"There are mountains of blue and purple rock that look like the pyramids. But they are far bigger." There was no language to describe the wild of the Realm; only the senses could describe the raw beauty. A vivid harsh landscape of wind-swept purple rock tinged ash-grey in the weak light of the twilight sky. The Sahrae tasted and smelled earthen. Cold winds raced through his violet hair. It was real before Sihrr in one moment and disappeared into the bright sunlight in the next. Yami's crimson eyes grew wide and unfocused as he tipped back slightly in Sihrr's arms as if he had seen something that amazed him. The little boy was quiet for a moment.  
  
"Sihrr, where do you come from?"  
  
Caught off-guard, the Magician hesitated. There was no avoiding the question; sooner or later, it would require an answer. Yami was not unfamiliar with the Realm that was certain, although he had probably never seen the true expanse of the Shadow world. But that was not the dilemma Sihrr faced. Answering this innocent question would lead to other questions about his past, questions he would rather not answer and answers he did not want to face.  
  
"I come from a place very far away, yet very near. It is called the Realm of Shadows," Sihrr replied carefully. Puzzlement knit the small boy's eyebrows. He was about to ask the Guardian to explain when Serrah's quiet voice interrupted.  
  
"Mawllah, we have arrived at your new quarters." The room was large and spacious with a slight current of air that lightly brushed against Sihrr's skin. Light streamed in from several rectangular windows. A plain bed was pushed against one side of the room, sharing the space with several pieces of plain furniture. Yami squirmed excitedly at the sight, a bundle of childish energy. Caught off-guard by the unexpected movement, Sihrr nearly dropped his partner. It was only his quick reflexes that he caught and gently lowered the boy to the ground with the use of magic. Yami grinned while the Magician felt his cheeks grow hot from embarrassment.  
  
"I can do that too, Sihrr. Watch." The little prince concentrated, giving the youthful face an intense look. A card flew in front of Sihrr's face from where it had previously rested in a pocket. The golden Eye of Horus gleamed as the card quivered in the air before settling onto Yami's outstretched hand. The boy grinned proudly as he felt a brief burst of amusement from his Guardian.  
  
"Little prince, return that to the mawllah," Serrah admonished in a firm voice.  
  
Yami pouted. "Don't tell me what to do, aaibad. Sihrr and I were just playing."  
  
The Magician knelt down to the boy's level, gently plucking the card from his hands and replacing it into his robes. "But Yami, you forgot one of the rules to the game. You must never call anyone aaibad."  
  
The boy looked at his Guardian questioningly. "Why is that, Sihrr?"  
  
"If you do, then they won't want to play with you anymore because you do not treat them as your equal."  
  
"Oh." Yami looked up at the Hebrew with wide eyes, a hint of apology in his voice. "Serrah, will you still play with me?"  
  
"As long as you play by the rules, little one," Serrah replied, smiling briefly at the prince's enormous crimson eyes. It was a wonder at how the child could look so adorable when he wanted to. "Now, it is time for eating. We must leave the mawllah to rest." She turned to the magician. "The servants will bring your meal shortly, mawllah." Despite the sleeping infant strapped to her back, the servant woman knelt down to pick the boy up.  
  
"Here." The Magician swept his partner up in his arms with one fluid motion. Yami giggled as Sihrr helped the woman back to her feet.  
  
"I can take the child, mawllah. His rooms are only down the hall and you need to take your rest."  
  
"I do not need rest."  
  
Serrah saw that there was no persuading the decided Guardian. She was slightly offset by the way he treated her. It was unsettling but it was pleasant, she admitted. She was a servant, infinitely far below his ranks although she was educated in writing and arithmetic, rare skills for a nursemaid. Aside from the pharaoh and his queen, the self-important officials of the palace treated the servants no better than they treated the commoners. Serrah felt a touch of respect as she regarded the tall Magician.  
  
"This way, mawllah." She led the pair in the direction of the prince's rooms.  
  
"There is no need to call me master." The formal title tripped over the Magician's tongue, making it sound awkward. "My name is Sihrr."  
  
A look of understanding passed between servant and magician, followed by a smile on the sun-browned face of the Hebrew woman. "My name is Serrah. And this is how you hold a child so you will not drop him when he moves in your arms." She deftly undid the straps holding her infant, transferring the quiet light-haired child to her arms and demonstrating a proper hold. She looked expectantly at the Magician, who shifted Yami's weight until he rested securely in his grasp. A faint blush stayed on Sihrr's cheeks as he practiced Serrah's advice the rest of the way to Yami's rooms.  
  
  
  
"It is still too early to go to bed, Serrah. I don't even feel sleepy" Yami complained as he struggled to stifle a yawn.  
  
"Little prince, Ra has already left the sky. It is time for sleeping. I'm sure Sihrr wants to rest as well. He has been busy all day helping me and he must be tired." She looked over to the Magician, who was coaxing his partner to bed. He had removed his strange plated armour and now wore robes of deep purple. It was strange, she thought, that he handled the child as a shepherd would hold his youngest lamb while he moved with the cunning grace of a jackal. Serrah squinted in the poor lighting. It must have been the restless flame of the oil lamp that had made his purple eyes glow dimly in the dark.  
  
"Serrah is right, little dark. It is time for bed." With that warning, the Magician lifted the child with magic and tucked him beneath the linen sheets. The Hebrew woman adjusted the blankets to make the child comfortable and brushed hair out of the drooping eyes, then took the oil lamp and left the room. The only light in the room was the unsteady glow of torchlight from the hall.  
  
[Sihrr?]  
  
[What is it?]  
  
[There are a lot of shadows in here.]  
  
Sihrr knelt beside the bed. [Does the dark frighten you?] He felt a vigorous mental and physical head shake.  
  
[No, it doesn't. But I don't like shadows.]  
  
[What is it that you don't like about shadows, Yami?]  
  
[The things that make them.] The small voice whispered softly in the warrior's mind. Sihrr frowned momentarily. He could dispel the dark with light, but how could he dispel shadows? Or, the things that made them? An image flickered in his mind.  
  
[I can help chase the shadows away. Come with me.] Sihrr tugged gently on the golden thread that bound Guardian and partner together, using it to guide Yami's consciousness to his Soul Room. Yami felt a calm sensation of sinking, as if he had melted into his bed in the palace and resurfaced in the bed of his Soul Room.  
  
The room was as he had left it. The shifting swirls of colour and memory on the ceiling cast a soft glow on the various toys strewn about the floor. A brighter light caught his attention and he saw his Guardian sitting on the corner of his bed, concentrating on a glowing white ball that hung in the air between his hands. As he watched, the ball shifted and turned. Its brilliant white colour hardened into a gleaming gold and its roundness stretched into sloping angular plains.  
  
"It's beautiful, Sihrr!"  
  
The Magician smiled. He twisted a hand and the newly-made toy, a small pyramid, spun neatly into Yami's lap. It continued to shed golden light as the boy picked it up.  
  
"This will chase away all your shadows, even in your dreams. It isn't the biggest pyramid in Egypt, but it is the only one that glows in the dark," Sihrr grinned. Yami yawned widely and settled back, holding the pyramid close.  
  
[Shukran, Sihrr.] With that, the little boy drifted to sleep. The Magician watched the slight rise and fall of the slow breathing for a while, a smile playing on his lips, before he carefully left the Soul Room. Returning to Yami's room in the palace, Sihrr was on the balls of his feet in a heartbeat, whipping around to face the intruder.  
  
It was Azrak. It took the warrior a moment to recognize the black- robed elder. The Sage motioned for them to step into the hall. Sihrr hesitated then followed, not wanting to wake his partner if a confrontation arose. Both Guardians exited noiselessly into a corridor empty of people save pairs of armoured guards.  
  
/We need someplace more private to talk./ The pharaoh's Guardian twisted the fabric of space, infusing magic into the ordinary threads of the mortal world to make an extension of the Shadow Realm. It was not a true part of the Shadow Realm, merely a creation, but Sihrr felt as if he had come home. The Darkness embraced him. The two Beings stood on a small plain bathed in familiar purple twilight that faded into darkness in the distance.  
  
"Why are we here?"  
  
"We need to talk."  
  
"Of what?"  
  
"Sihrr, the path of a Guardian is a long and lonely one."  
  
"I know."  
  
"Do you still wish to go ahead with it?"  
  
Sihrr dug his nails into his hand to control his anger. He had given everything to be Yami's Guardian; there was no going back, even if he had wanted to or honour allowed him. None of that mattered, though. It was because of his love for the boy that he had made this decision.  
  
"Do you doubt that I do?" There was quiet anger in his voice. How dare the Elder even suggest that he would go back on his word.  
  
Azrak shook his head. "No."  
  
"Then why do you ask?"  
  
"Because the pledge you will be making is far too great not to." The Sage met the magician's glare calmly. "Tell me, what do you think your duties are as Yami's Guardian?"  
  
"To protect him with my life." The fierce warrior's pride flared in the Magician.  
  
Azrak nodded. "I thought no less. There are many that owe their lives to the sacrifice of an Azima. You are a warrior by birthright and training. But being a warrior does not mean that you will be a proper Guardian."  
  
A hard look crossed the Magician's face. He may not have been an Ahsan, as the other was, but it made him no less fit to be a Guardian. "And just what does it mean to be a 'proper' Guardian?"  
  
"Many things. It is more than merely protecting your partner from whatever dangers he may encounter. You are bonded to him for life. He will look to you for advice, judgement, answers to his questions, comfort, friendship. Can you provide all these?"  
  
"Anything I can give to Yami, I will."  
  
"But will it be enough?"  
  
Sihrr was silent, eyes fixed on the middle distance. Underneath his anger, doubts and fears boiled inside him, each bubble containing a situation in which he had failed in his duty. They burst into accusing questions. What would he say when Yami sought his advice? How could he guide his partner when he was not sure himself? Was this truly the destiny he needed to fulfill? He could suddenly feel the weight of his decision to follow this path press down on him but he kept his appearance neutral. He was keenly aware that his silence implied his uncertainty but he would be damned to the darkest regions of the Realm before he let it show. Especially not to the Ahsan Elder.  
  
"Will it be enough?" Azrak repeated.  
  
"I will make sure it is."  
  
"And how would you do that?"  
  
Each question pushed the Azima farther into a corner of doubt and frustration. He couldn't let this arrogant opponent win; he had to stand his ground. Anger and instincts took over. "What gives you the right to demand these answers?"  
  
"Yu-gi-oh is my partner's son. The pharaoh's concern is my concern."  
  
"I believe you are over-stepping your boundaries, Elder. If the pharaoh were troubled about his son, he would be the one questioning me. If you doubt me so much, why help me escape from the Council in the first place? I am Yami's Guardian, even if I am a Karrah." Sihrr spat out the last word.  
  
"Is that what you think this is about?"  
  
"Isn't it? That is the reason I am an outcast. I am a warrior of the Azima and therefore unworthy and incompetent to be a Guardian. Such has always been the narrow-minded thinking of the Ahsan. Every other clan is below yours. Have you ever stopped to think of how your borders are kept safe from the Shadows? It is because we, the Azima, are the guardians of the Sahrae. Our warriors protect your way of life. We are your guardians. The destiny of the Guardian may not be mine by birthright but I am Yami's Guardian. I will be more than just a proper Guardian. By my honour as an Azima, I will be there to Guide him through fire and Shadow if that is where his path takes us." Sihrr drew a ragged breath. A warm wetness dripped from his clenched fists. Dimly, he realized it was blood from wounds his fingernails had made.  
  
"I expect no less from an Azima."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You swear to be more than just a 'proper' Guardian. I hold you to your vow, Magician. You will be my apprentice."  
  
Confusion replaced anger. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"I will teach you to be a Guardian."  
  
"I don't need you."  
  
"You need guidance."  
  
"What makes you think that?"  
  
"No Being is born knowing how to be a Guardian. You need guidance, and I will provide it."  
  
Sihrr was about to refuse when he remembered his doubts. He did need guidance. But to accept help from the Sage was swallowing too much pride. The Magician struggled to reconcile the two needs. In the end, it was reason that won over pride.  
  
"I will accept your guidance, but only for my partner's sake."  
  
It was the first time Sihrr had seen the Sage smile. "For whatever reasons, I will see to it that you learn to be a Guardian."  
  
  
  
  
  
Personal Notes:  
  
Nicole: thank you so much for the advice on the ending. =) The turning point was when I read your comment about how pissed off Sihrr should've been and something just clicked; I'm MUCH happier with it now. This scene is dedicated to you. ^^  
  
Maria: thank you so much for saying you love my story. =) I know I sound awfully needy when I say this, but genuinely, you're one of the reviewers that keep me going. I had a look at your story, Cries of an Ancient Heart- it's wonderful. I hope you continue with it, and I hope you won't mind if I draw inspiration for my own story from it.  
  
Rainbowscale: You're welcome; because it's true. 


	10. Doubts

Author's Notes: An update, finally. This chapter was difficult in coming, mostly because I had this intense fear that I was going to screw up the rest of the story after what I felt was a really positive start. Thankfully, with the help of fanfiction.net columns on how NOT to be afraid of writing, encouragement from Nicole and Zoo, and reading lots of quality stories from other fandoms, I'm over that fear. I have also adopted a lengthier style, which is a nice reward for those who have been waiting so long for an update (this chapter is 6000-7000 words; hopefully that will keep you busy for a while ^^)  
  
I took the liberty of rewriting some of the earlier chapters. I encourage anyone who has the time to read them, as there are a few important changes and the writing is much more fleshed out. Yami is officially five years old; the reason for this change will become evident in later chapters. The story is now set in the NEW Kingdom of Egyptian history, so I need a new title (again). Suggestions are welcome so exercise your mouse and click the little button on the bottom. Starting today, I will now post updates on my profile page, as well as reply reviews and such, as my longer chapters are getting too bulky to put these notes here all the time. I think I'll erase these notes the next time I post a new chapter, so the actual story isn't crowded with my ramblings.  
  
I want to thank everyone who has ever left me a review; you really helped to break the writer's block. This chapter is for you, Nicole and Zoo. ^^  
  
  
  
Chapter Nine: Doubts  
  
Amenhotep stood slightly behind his wife as she accepted the formal gratitude of the Azima warrior. His face was a mask of neutrality, his intense gaze the only fact betraying his curiosity for the young Magician. The trained eye of the experienced diplomat noted Sihrr's inclined head and averted eyes as the warrior straightened from his bow. So, there were cracks in the warrior's armour after all. Without warning, a fingertip of sympathy lightly brushed the king's opinion of the new Guardian, mixed with admiration for the warrior's self control. The emotion flashed by too quickly to catch and contain, and Amenhotep berated himself for the lapse in discipline. It would not do to let the fickle moods of the heart colour the objectivity of his scrutiny. The king focused his attention once again on the purple-clad figure. He hides it well, he mused.  
  
[He does.]  
  
The king's face showed no sign that he had heard the unexpected response, a quick side glance the only acknowledgement of his Guardian's comment. With practiced grace, Amenhotep took a step back towards the Sage, timing the action so that the attention of his wife and the Magician were directed to the entrance of a servant girl. Waiting for the Guardian to initiate further discussion, Amenhotep watched as Nekti administrated her orders to the servant and transferred their young son into the arms of the Magician. The warrior held the child stiffly and an expression of what appeared to be panic flitted across his face. There was a slight widening of the lapis lazuli eyes as the young prince leaned into the folds of the Magician's purple robe. Yami's serious demeanour melted into a delighted grin and the little hands came up to pat the angular planes of the Magician's cheek. Something within Amenhotep stirred uncomfortably at the sight of his son's affection, an odd mixture of angry impulse and sadness. He felt it press urgently against the walls of his control but he dared not set them loose, yet he sensed that he could not contain it forever. His mind attempted to sort through the disturbance but only served to confuse him further.  
  
[Something troubles you, Amenhotep.]  
  
A slight frown creased the king's forehead. He was in no mood to share his feelings with another. [My heart carries no burden.]  
  
A short laugh echoed between Guardian and Partner. [I will never figure out how you are such a successful diplomat, Amen; your lies are thin as air.] The jest in Azrak's voice faded. [How many years have I known you, Amen? You cannot hide your heart from me.]  
  
[I wish I could at times.]  
  
[I am glad you cannot. Now, tell me what troubles you.]  
  
[Do you not you already know if you can read my heart?]  
  
[No, Amen.] It was unfair to raise his barriers against the concern in the Guardian's softly spoken words but he could not possibly name that which troubled him, for the explanation evaded even his own understanding. The closest he could come to describing it was like pressing back the inevitable inundation of the Nile waters in flood season. A river churned within him. The safety of the walls was to be questioned. He had not the words to express it, nor did he want to drown his Guardian in the waters. Keeping his eyes trained on the fluid motions of his wife as she spoke to the Magician, Amenhotep searched for something to deflect Azrak's worry.  
  
[Will Sihrr be a good Guardian to my son?]  
  
Amenhotep heard a note of frustration in Azrak's sigh. However, the Guardian obliged the question. [He very much wants to be.]  
  
[Good intentions do not always produce good results.] The discussion was cut short as they watched the servant girl leading the Magician out of the room. When they had disappeared from view, Nekti turned around to face her husband and it was only then that Amenhotep noticed the bend in her proud bearing, the fatigue of the previous night rounding her shoulders under its weight. Her eyes demanded that they discuss the situation at hand. Nekti glanced momentarily at the Sage, asking a silent question. He tipped his head, a smile softening the stern face.  
  
"I have something that requires my attention, so I must take my leave."  
  
"Where will you be going?" Amenhotep inquired.  
  
"To pave a future with good intentions." Nekti looked quizzically at the Sage, who graced the expression with a knowing grin. "May Amen-Re smile upon your day." Azrak sketched a short bow to the Royal couple and left with a muttered spell.  
  
A moment of silence hung in the air as husband and wife looked at each other in preparation for the long discussion ahead. It was Amenhotep that broke the stillness. Closing the distance between them, he put an arm around Nekti's waist and guided her to a gilded chair covered with embroidered cushions. She sat down as Amenhotep circled around the chair to the back, placing his hands on her shoulders to gently kneed at the tension in her muscles. The action allowed him to gather his thoughts and walk away from the river, concentrating stray tendrils of attention to untangling the knotted strips of muscle. She relaxed under the expert administrations.  
  
/Your muscles are like fresh clay./  
  
/And your hands are those of a master potter, my husband./  
  
/I am only retouching a work of art that has forgotten its perfection./  
  
Nekti laughed at the flattery. /That golden tongue of yours, Amen./ The laughter receded. /Sihrr is settling into his new quarters. I feel that he will Guard our son well./ Amenhotep wanted to agree with his wife, but a wave within him curbed the thought. His mind was willing to acknowledge the competence of the new Guardian but his heart. He kept quiet. /You do not accept him./ Nekti put a hand on her husband's suddenly still fingers, leading his thoughts back to the matter at hand.  
  
/That is not of importance at the moment./ He felt her ready to argue the point, but pressed ahead. /Even with a Guardian, Yami is not safe from the Shadow Realm./ Darkness crept into Nekti's mood and Amenhotep felt a twinge of guilt in being the messenger of ill news, but it was essential that this issue be dealt with immediately. The arrival of the Magician had not calmed his fears of the Shadow Realm. His son's acquisition of a Shadow Guardian meant that he was one step closer to the spectral powers of the Shadow and one step closer to the danger they represented.  
  
/Amen, I will be the first to admit that I do not know enough of the Realm of Shadows. For me, it is a far-removed danger but I know that my ignorance is a luxury that cannot be afforded to our son. Though I do not fear the Realm of Shadows as I ought to, I too have waited long for this discussion. We must make a decision on what to do about Yami./ The violet eyes settled upon the golden beams of light playing across the painted floor, though the gaze peered into the middle distance. /His Dark needs balance in Light, as all things need balance. Ma'at will only continue to grow more disordered./  
  
/Well do I know, Morning Star. But it is the will of the gods for Dark and Light to meet./  
  
/It is in that that I feel helpless! We can do nothing to help our son. And if what you say is true, then the Shadows circle every closer. I fear, Amenhotep. I am afraid. that we will lose him./ Nekti's frustration and anxiety stung Amenhotep as salt pinches in the wound. Her fears echoed his own, compounding the troubles he carried in his heart. He closed his own fears from her to spare her the burden. Amenhotep wrapped a tender arm around her and rested his cheek on her head, murmuring softly into the fragrant black hair. They held each other, taking comfort in the closeness.  
  
/I am sorry, Amen./  
  
Amenhotep held his wife closer. /No, Morning Star. Never apologize for your fear./  
  
/I only wish that there was something we could do./  
  
/As do I./ Amenhotep searched his mind once again for a solution he could offer, turning over every thought and chasing every idea. It irked him that he had not discovered an answer yet in the five years that he had dedicated to contemplating the dilemma but the same problems dogged him as before. The uncertainty of the future loomed in his vision. Logic stumbled in the face of fate. Though he was the living Horus, a god in his own right, he was forced to admit to himself, in the very deepest and private recess of his heart that he was not a divine being. He was filled with the same uncertainty, questions and fears as those of any other man, perhaps more so. He was expected to have answers, not just any answers but the right answers. Many times, he doubted even as he confidently issued a command. He ran from the fear but it followed him with the persistence of a shadow. Not for the first time, he wished for guidance; not the empty silence of the stone statutes of the gods but tangible advice from the gods themselves.  
  
And suddenly, he saw his answer. It had been right before him all those years and he had never grasped upon it! How could he have been so blind? He wanted to hit his head against the adobe walls and leap with joy at the same time but somehow mastered both impulses. /Nekti, the meeting of Dark and Light is decided by Divine order, is it not?/  
  
/Yes. The will of the gods ordains it./  
  
/I should have seen it before. If such a decision is that of the gods, what we need Divine guidance./  
  
/Do you suggest the oracles?/  
  
Amenhotep smiled wanly. /No, the oracles are of no use. I speak of Ma'atkare./  
  
Nekti twisted around to face her husband, causing him to release her from his embrace. /I have thought of her often but I have always refrained from going to her./  
  
/For what reason?/  
  
/Listen to me, Amenhotep: be wary of her counsel. The prophecies of Ma'atkare are dangerous./  
  
/I t is a risk that I am willing to take for our son./  
  
She shook her head. /You do not understand. While I was a priestess under her tutelage, I once asked her to teach me the gift of Sight, for which she was once widely known for. She forbade it because of the tragedy her gift brought. A Greek king from across the Great Water of the Lower Lands came to seek her wisdom. He had heard of her gift and beseeched her to foretell the fate of his son. She refused but the Theban was insistent. So Ma'atkare relented. And what the man Saw was that his son was destined to kill his father and marry his mother./  
  
Amenhotep raised a brow. The tale had amused him as a prince, and he had thought it was no more than a childhood story. Perhaps there was truth in it, if his wife so fervently believed it to be true. /Upon hearing the prophecy, the king crippled the child's feet and abandoned him in the wilds to die but a shepherd found the boy and gave him to the childless king of Corinth. When he was grown, he heard of the prophecy of Ma'atkare and left Corinth, hoping to escape his fate. In his travels, he killed an old man over a disagreement. He then was made the king of Thebes, marrying the recently widowed queen. He ruled for many years until one day, a beggar was brought before him. The peasant was the same man that had discovered the child many years before. The beggar revealed that the old man the king had killed was his father and that the woman he had married was his mother. The man blinded himself and cursed the Sight of Ma'atkare. She has not made another prophecy since./  
  
/And you hold this tale to be true?/  
  
/I swear to it by Isis./  
  
/But I have heard of the tale as well and my tutors told me that it happened many inundations of the Nile ago, in the time of my forefathers./  
  
/You do not know Ma'atkare, Amen. It is true./  
  
The solemnity of Nekti's voice made Amenhotep pause. Perhaps it was true. But that would mean that Ma'atkare was ancient. Not unheard of for a priestess and prophet, but he had been most certain it had happened many reigns of kings ago. Perhaps an error in the tutelage of his mentors, but though the detail was intriguing it was of little significance. /Nekti, say it is true. What other choice do we have left? Know you of any other paths we can walk?/  
  
With great reluctance came the answer. /No./  
  
/And it is your wish as well as mine that we choose a path to walk on, for it would be foolish to let time decide the course we take. I would counsel to wait if we could, but the arrival of the Guardian foretells much that we cannot ignore. The Shadows have marked him, I believe./  
  
/You speak as though they have a mind./  
  
/I believe they do./ The words were grim. /Morning star, I lay a path before your feet. Would you choose it?/ Time trickled by in dancing motes of light in the warm afternoon air as Nekti settled back into the chair for thought and Amenhotep resumed the circular motion of his fingers upon his wife's back. He counted the patterns of his hands to pass the time as his wife weighed the decision in her mind. He was on the hundredth circle over her left shoulder, which he noted with satisfaction was once more supple and pliant as muscle should be, when she spoke aloud.  
  
"Ma'atkare may refuse our audience. And she may not have the answers we seek." Amenhotep nodded as his wife rose from the chair and prepared to leave for the temple. Apprehension nibbled at the edges of his mind at Nekti's warning but he felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his heart. He turned his attention inward for a brief moment, and found the voices of doubt quiet.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
The rays of Amun-Ra in the latter half of his journey across the expanse of blue sky danced in pairs of golden eyes as the king and queen made their way down the aisle of sphinxes. The light slap of many feet upon the hot paved stones resounded softly as the procession of shade bearers and guards accompanied the Royal couple on their way to the temple of Isis. The ordered rhythm of the marching servants halted in unison as the king and queen stopped at the arched entrance of the temple courtyard. Amenhotep turned to the train of guards standing at attention. As a unit, the men bowed then broke formation to assume positions on either side of the entrance. The shade bearers manoeuvred their enormous fans to form an arc of black and white plume over the threshold where the passageway met the temple compound. The king rewarded his escort with a nod of satisfaction. The Lord and Lady of the Two Lands entered the temple of Isis.  
  
Enormous figures of stone painted in vivid colours flanked the approach to the temple, tall kings of the past granted immortal life in the memories of the living. They dwarfed any that walked down the procession to the temple, calculated to inspire awe and reverence. Amenhotep could name all the figures. Ahmose, the warrior king to whom Kemet owed its unity and prosperity to. Two Amenhoteps, after whom he was named, both rulers of power and wealth. Three Thutmoses, brilliant generals and strategists that had extended the hand of Kemet to encompass its weaker neighbours. The stone kings exuded the air of strength and ancient wisdom that was the crook and flail of the pharaoh. Amenhotep breathed in their silent glory and confidence.  
  
The procession of colossal statues ended in a short flight of stone steps bordered by two gilded obelisks. The husky lustre of the golden stone pinnacles made the white-washed temple walls glow. The light lent brilliance to hieroglyphs of red, green, blue and gold inscribed in columns on the limestone bricks. The sticky sweet smell of incense mixed with the unmistakeable metallic taste of sacrifices past faintly perfumed the air. A movement out of the corner of Amenhotep's eye drew his attention to a lone falcon sitting on an outcropping of rock. The bird surveyed the visitors with a severe golden eye, the liquid depths of the gaze reminiscent of the ageless glare of the sphinxes.  
  
A group of priests emerged from the inner sanctuary of the temple building to greet the king and queen with clasped hands and deep bows. A grey-haired man stepped forward and knelt a respectful distance from the king. "Ahalan, Golden Ones. We are at your command."  
  
"You have my permission to rise, Senenmut. I trust you received my message."  
  
"My lord? My deepest apologies but we have received no message."  
  
Amenhotep arched a brow. "My messenger informed me that it was delivered to the servant boy at the gate."  
  
The skin around the priest's eyes tightened and he turned his head to glare at a young boy dutifully holding a lantern of incense. "Menpehtire, why was I not informed of the king's message the moment you received it?" The boy held his head at the prescribed level of obligatory respect and lidded his eyes in deference, but the grey eyes glimmered with mischief. "Mawllah, did you not command that I should not disturb you even if Seth knocked at the door?" The priest turned a brilliant shade of red while his eyes attempted to bore holes into the boy's head. To his credit, the boy shrugged off the look with a calculated display of ignorance.  
  
"Senenmut." The priest turned at the authoritative address of his king though he kept his eyes downcast. Thus, he missed the amused smile that played across Amenhotep's lips. "I am sorry, my Lord."  
  
"It is my wish to speak with Ma'atkare."  
  
The old man flicked his eyes to the side. Hesitantly, he bowed in apology. "Forgive me, my lord, but the Lady Ma'atkare has given orders that no one is to be admitted into her presence."  
  
The king frowned and was about to command the priest to obey when he felt Nekti's touch on his mind. He stilled his impatience with the priest as she stepped forward slightly. "Senenmut, his Majesty is aware that Ma'atkare strictly guards her privacy but it is his wish to speak with her. Take us to her and we shall see if she accepts our audience. And I do not think that she would turn away a well-meaning visit from an old student."  
  
"Of course, my queen. My humble apologies again, Divine One. I shall take your Majesties to her myself." The muscle in the priest's jaw stopped its nervous clenching. Senenmut dismissed the rest of the priests with a curt nod, throwing a dark look at the young incense bearer as the boy brought up the rear of the men returning to their duties. The priest gestured towards a hallway and proceeded to lead the Royal couple into the inner sanctum of the temple. They made a brief stop in a room occupied by a shallow pool in which the visitors cleansed their hands and feet then arrived shortly before large wooden doors.  
  
"The study quarters of the Lady, Majesty," Senenmut announced. Before the priest could lay a hand on the smooth wooden surface, the doors opened inwards without any visible aid. The old man looked at Amenhotep in astonishment. "My Lord. I believe the Lady Ma'atkare is ready to receive you."  
  
The king nodded. "We shall enter ourselves, Senenmut. You shall stay here until we have spoken with Ma'atkare, for I have words to speak with you as well." The priest bowed again and moved to the side in obedience to the command. Amenhotep and Nekti stepped through the threshold into an expansive room with lines of cubicles imbedded in the walls. The king paused, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. He almost dared not breathe, so still and tranquil was the room. It smelled of history bound in sweet dried papyrus and tasted faintly of honey. He felt any apprehension he had had slip away from him, bleeding and dissipating into the thick absorbent air. The tranquility did not dim his worry for his son but served to clear his mind and calm the waters of his heart. A hollow thud from the closing doors resounded off wooden shelves of square cubicles filled with lightly browned scrolls. The shelves curved inward to form a circle broken randomly by squares of light that high windows permitted entrance to and spaces through which one could access inner circles of shelves. Nekti took her husband's hand and began to navigate her way through the shelves with ease, slipping in and out of the squares of light.  
  
/I trust you know where we are going?/ Amenhotep queried.  
  
/Your trust will be rewarded,/ came the reply. /Amen, why did you have Senenmut wait for us outside the doors?/  
  
Amenhotep grinned smugly. /That old man needs to take a rest from his stressful duties; I doubt it would do him good to yell at the messenger boy./  
  
/You just want to have your fun with him,/ Nekti admonished, shaking her head.  
  
/Perhaps but I do wish to speak with him./ The conversation ended as they approached the middle of the circular maze. Standing on the opposite side of a white marble disc set into the floor was a figure. It was a woman. Later, Amenhotep would wonder if that moment in time had stopped to hold its breath when he had beheld the Lady Ma'atkare for the first time. A white veil; folds of rippled linen. Hair that rivalled the darkness of kohl yet shone with brilliance tinged with hints of blue. Slim brown fingers, flitting from cubicle to cubicle like the small birds flicking among the Nile reeds. The figure turned to face the visitors. Her eyes. Though shaded by folds of cloth, they were clear and bright as the pale dawn and ageless in their deep blue incandescence. He felt as though he were looking into the depths of the past, for her eyes had watched as kings had risen and fallen, as they had watched his rise and would watch him fall. They held him fully in mind and heart in their gaze; nothing was denied them. He only hoped that they would not deny him his request.  
  
"Ahalan, Amenhotep, Nekti." Time resumed its steady rhythm forward as the incandescent gaze shifted between the two visitors.  
  
Nekti bowed. Amenhotep caught the movement from the corner of his eye and followed suite. A corner of his mind wondered at the absurd notion of the king of the Two Lands deferring to a priestess, yet he felt at ease doing so. "Ahalan, Ma'atkare. It is good to see you again, my Lady."  
  
"As it is to see you, Nekti." She accepted an embrace from the younger woman then bade them both to sit on the cool marble floor with a small gesture. "You wished to speak with me regarding your son." Amenhotep's brow creased a fraction. How had she known the purpose of their visit? Had she used the Sight? The Lady's ageless gaze alighted upon him. "The question is plain to see in your hearts. You wish to use the Sight to reveal what the young prince has in store." The words were spoken with certainty.  
  
Amenhotep raised a brow but dismissed the seeming omnipotence of the priestess. If anything, it validated her claim as a powerful seer, and there were more important matters at hand. "You speak truly, Lady. That is our wish. Will you help us?"  
  
"You know not the burden you request, Amenhotep."  
  
"The Sight would be a gift, not a burden."  
  
"If that is what you truly believe, then I cannot grant your request for you do not understand what it is you ask for." Amenhotep bristled.  
  
"But I do, Ma'atkare," a quiet voice intoned, drawing the attention of the priestess away from the forming scowl on the man's face. "You once showed me the double-edged power of the Sight. You taught me that to trust in it was foolish so I have never asked you to use your gift but I must ask for it now."  
  
"Why do you wish for something foolish, Nekti?"  
  
"I do not trust the Sight to provide us with answers, for that is foolish. But I feel it may help us see what paths are open to us and it is this guidance that we ask for."  
  
"Then you do not need to use the Sight, for it will mislead you. Guidance can be gotten in many other forms that are less perilous."  
  
"What is your advice then, priestess?" Amenhotep challenged.  
  
"You wish to find the Light to your son's darkness." The man affirmed the comment with a nod. "Then heed these words. Light and Dark will seek each other in their own time, for one cannot exist without the balance of the other. Trust in time and the will of the gods to provide the Light to compliment his Dark half, as they have provided for both of you. This matter of destiny is out of your hands. Leave it be."  
  
A flicker of anger sparked in Amenhotep's eyes. "Lady, I cannot simply let this matter be. I am his father and the Lord of the Two Lands. There must be more that we- that I- can do for him. We cannot just sit by idly and watch him fall into Shadows!"  
  
"He will not, Amenhotep," the priestess replied firmly, her calm expression unruffled by the other's outburst. "He has the strength to survive the trial of Shadows but it will be a trying time for him. When I council to trust in time, I do not mean for you to merely mark the progress of his days. You are right. You are his father, whether you be a peasant or the reborn Horus. And that is what Yami really needs at the moment, Amenhotep. He needs and will need both you and Nekti to support him and be at his side to light his way as he searches for his own. The Shadows cannot claim him as long as he has your protection." Amenhotep felt the sharp truth of the priestess's words stab him. She was right. Had he been at his son's side, perhaps he would not be here begging guidance from a reluctant priestess. He had not been there when he should have. Was that why the Shadows had almost claimed his son? Was it merely his shortcomings as a father and protector that last night had almost been a disaster had it not been for the young Magician?  
  
"Lady, you speak wisely and mayhap we do not care for our son as we should," Nekti said, interrupting Amenhotep's thoughts, "but our request stands firm. We have great need for you Sight. Yami was almost taken by the Shadows last night."  
  
The priestess tensed and the ageless midnight eyes narrowed; the worry a strong contrast to the normally calm visage. "But he is still yet young, barely a child. Certainly they do not seek to claim him already."  
  
"They do and it is only the intervention of his new Guardian that they failed," Amenhotep said, after he recounted the events of the previous night.  
  
Nekti nodded. "Now you know why we must make our request, Ma'atkare. We do not ask it lightly and I would not ask for it at all, but the Shadows press us to do so. Please, help us." A frown knit the smooth brown features as the priestess bowed her head in thought. Amenhotep reached out to take his wife's hand into his own as they awaited the Lady's decision. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  
  
At length, the veiled figure stirred and spoke. "If it is the Sight you wish to use, I must warn you: even I cannot discern the path you will take. I can only show you that which is possible. But do not trust these visions, for that will be your undoing." The couple nodded. With slim brown hands, the priestess took the folds of her veil and folded them back from her brow. Amenhotep started but checked his sharp intake of breath. In the center of the Lady's smooth forehead was a deep horizontal crease. The muscles around the crease shifted as an eyelid flutters before awakening from sleep and drew back to reveal a jewel-like orb of liquid black rimmed in silver. The Eye focused on the two people sitting before its mistress. Beholding the liquid blackness, it seemed to Amenhotep as if the dimensions of the world that shifted and flexed according to the fantasies of what could and could not be were sliced into thin slivers and fixed in time by that singular gaze of the Eye. It pinned him under its glare and his being dissolved into its component parts at its demand. A soft chant filled the air, a murmur that drew Amenhotep toward the black depths of the Eye. He fell into the gaze and all was black. His body was gone.or perhaps it was his mind that had left the confines of his body. It didn't matter in the darkness.  
  
He continued to fall until he instinctively felt his descent slow. A glimmer of light shone faintly below him where before there was only the black emptiness. He fixed on the light. The ray of illumination grew, stretching thin tendrils in multiple directions. Before him, the threads of light splayed into branches, which in turn splayed further in thin aberrations that intertwined randomly as far as he could see of the dark canvas that stretched into infinity. He twisted his presence around, expecting more of the same thin embroidery of light. Instead, a single solid ribbon flowed behind him, shining true among dimming strands of gold and silver fading into the darkness. As he beheld the ribbon, it pulsed softly. Memories flashed through his mind. Playing in the sand by the Nile. Laying in bed fevered as a young priestess held his hand. Powerful muscles of a glistening black stallion under his thighs. Blue eyes and purple hair of a boy, reaching out to clap his shoulder.  
  
He turned forward to the complex map of light before him. He picked one by random and concentrated on unfolding its possibility. An image flowered within his mind. Yami and another boy, playing in the muddy bank of the river. No, that was not the vision he sought for. He turned to another thread of light and unfurled it. A feast with many foreign heads of state attending, his son and wife at his side. Yami was much older and looked stiff and uncomfortable in the golden ornaments marking him as prince. Amusement tickled the man as he chose another thread of light and examined its vision. A wide pair of amethyst eyes, innocent and child-like, stared back at him in wonder. He did not recognize them, for they were rounder and younger than those of his wife yet so like them. Who was this? He leaned further into the vision...  
  
Amenhotep jerked backwards as his mind was abruptly deposited back into his body, causing him to spill onto the floor. He looked to his wife and saw that she was still sitting up, though she supported herself with one hand behind her. She glanced back in concern and he smiled weakly in reassurance. The priestess offered a hand to help the man up. He declined her offer, eyes glancing above the other's eyebrows. The priestess's brow was once again shrouded by folds of white cloth, the flawless skin underneath showing no sign of the Eye's existence. "Now do you see?" the priestess enquired of the man.  
  
"I Saw many things, Lady, but yes, I do see now."  
  
A grave smile traced the veiled figure's lips. "That is the danger of the Sight. You can not truly ever See the path before you, for not even the wisest among us know the final destination. What you Saw was what could be, not what will be." Amenhotep nodded, turning away so that the priestess would not see the shadows of disappointment in his eyes. He felt the light touch of his wife's hand upon his own.  
  
"I am sorry that the Sight cannot do more for you. I wish that I could give you answers but do not look to me for them. I cannot give you the right ones, if there are indeed any. And perhaps, it is foolish to know all the answers." Age seemed to sink heavily onto the unblemished face beneath the white shroud.  
  
"Thank you for your help, my Lady." Nekti bowed to her former teacher as she got up from the floor, pulling Amenhotep to his feet as well. Ma'atkare rose as well. "Nekti, Amenhotep," she called as they began to leave the inner sanctuary of the shelves. "This room is always open to you, as am I. Trust to the power of your own choices, for it is they that enable you to realize your destiny. It is your gift." With those words, the priestess took a step back to place the marble disc between herself and the royal couple. Amenhotep turned to follow his wife through the labyrinth of shelves, sparing one last glance at the priestess. He thought he caught a touch of sadness in those composed blue depths as the Lady stood as still as stone behind the circle of white.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
The priest Senenmut snapped to attention at the sound of the door opening. He bowed low as the king and queen exited, feeling stiff muscles protest from the sudden movement. "Your Majesties."  
  
His lord started slightly as if called back from deep thought. "Senenmut."  
  
"At your service, Golden One."  
  
The crimson eyes blinked then lighted in recollection as they focused on the old man, making the priest squirm slightly as the geese do under the unwanted attention of hunters "Ah, yes. I desired to speak with you." The elderly priest began to navigate through the halls of the temple at a gesture from the king. "Tell me, who was the young boy that greeted the queen and I so courteously?"  
  
Senenmut made a noise that sounded as if he were being strangled, at which the queen raised a kohl-lengthened brow. "That young kyky is a young servant boy of no importance that does menial tasks about the temple. His name is Menpehtire," the priest added to fill the silence following his flattering description.  
  
"I see. Is he schooled in writing or other learning?"  
  
The older man grimaced, glad that the dim light of the corridor hid his face from the king. "No, my lord. His family did not give provisions for his education and in my humble opinion, Divine One, the little scorpion is not worthy of teaching. He would make a most troublesome student and he is too dull-witted to learn anything."  
  
"I want you to see to it that he receives schooling."  
  
There was no mistaking the distressed choke that gurgled from the priest's throat as he stumbled on the paved stones of the temple. "Your Majesty wishes that Menpehtire is taught?"  
  
"Yes, Senenmut. Who is the best tutor for the task of educating a young child?"  
  
The old priest wondered if he had upset the gods. He prayed fervently for Osiris's forgiveness for whatever sin he had committed and slapped himself inwardly, hoping the self-recrimination would suffice for punishment. Anything but what he dreaded the king would command. He considered lying, but decided that the pain of execution was slightly worse than the other doom that awaited him. Only marginally, though. "I am," he gulped.  
  
"Then it is my wish that he begin his learning under your tutelage as soon as possible, Senenmut." The priest bowed, rooted to the ground in shock as he watched the royal couple pass through the arched entrance of the temple to be flanked by the train of guards waiting there. It was a long while before the old man stirred and sought the refuge of the buildings to wait for the dawn when he could awaken the gods and pray for their forgiveness.  
  
/Somehow, I do not think that will aid his health for the better, Amen,/ Nekti commented as they glided down the hall of sphinxes.  
  
/Of course it will. Two young boys should help him feel younger at heart./ Amenhotep turned to his guards and dismissed them with a nod as the procession approached the Royal sleeping quarters. Murmurs of 'your Majesty' whispered in the cool evening air as the men returned to their own quarters for the night, leaving two stationed outside the king's rooms for the first shift of the night. They questioned him silently as Amenhotep moved down the hall past his chambers. The king shook his head slightly and they stayed in position as the couple entered a room further down the corridor.  
  
Amenhotep felt a disturbance as he brushed against a patch of shadows hugging the wall under a flickering torch. He inspected the area closer and found that it was a ripple in the fabric of the Realm. He called out a question to his Guardian, to which the Sage replied that he was indeed the source of the disturbance. Amenhotep extended his Shadow-heightened senses and detected another presence close to that of Azrak's. The man quirked a smile. So that was what Azrak had meant by paving the road with good intentions. He wished the Sage luck with his endeavours and turned his attention back to see Nekti glided (glide) silently to the side of the expansive bed. She sat down gently, taking care not to disturb the little dreamer nestled in the linen blankets.  
  
/He looks so peaceful./  
  
Chuckling softly, Amenhotep moved beside his wife. /Yes,/ he replied, bending down to wipe a small trickle of saliva from the corner of the prince's mouth with a corner of the linen.  
  
/Amen, what did the Sight reveal to you?/ The violet eyes searched crimson ones as if the answer were written in them. It was ironic, the man mused. He had a feeling that the answer to her question was revealed in that elegant wine-coloured gaze, so similar to the round violet innocence that he had glimpsed in his vision. But it was childish to trust such feelings. He stepped carefully about the subject of feelings. It was late and the duties that he had taken care of from the early hours of the day to before Yami's interruption were taking their toll on him. He did not have the strength to ford a river tonight. Putting it aside as best he could, he decided that he needed much thought before he could answer his wife's question.  
  
/I Saw many things. There were visions that I hope will come to be but there are visions that I do not understand. I wish to think on it tonight and discuss it tomorrow, if you are willing./ A protest hovered on the woman's lips but she pressed them firmly together and kept her peace. Amenhotep wrapped his arms around the slender waist and drew his wife close to loosen her lips with his own, suffusing her mouth with his thanks for her patience. The couple left their son's room and entered their own, seeking remedy for a day's worth of weariness. As Amenhotep lay in the darkness of his own bed, listening to the even breaths of the woman in his arms, sleep did not come to him. Visions and thoughts raced through his mind while it seemed to the king that he could hear the voices of a river surging faintly in the distance. 


End file.
